


Avia

by Cortesia



Series: The Swan-King [1]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Sex, Child Abuse, Cinnamon Roll, Emotional Whumpage of Eggsy, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Oblivious!Harry, Oral Sex, Past Domestic Violence, Past Torture, Soul Bond, Torture, Verbal Abuse, Wingfic, implied prostitution, too pure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-11 23:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 73,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4456499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cortesia/pseuds/Cortesia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was little to be done the day Gary Unwin was born. Like any other child, he was born into the world small and weak. But unlike other children in his neighborhood, he was born different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 8/25 - I HAVE GORGEOUS FAN ART. Many thanks to Hurricanine for this work! [Eggsy's wings!](http://hurricanine.tumblr.com/post/127576785022/hurricanine-look-i-did-a-thing-heavily)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wingfic AU, y’all. Soulmate fic, y’all. They should call this fic dressing room one, ‘cause I’m about to pop my published-fanfic cherry. Be gentle.  
> 
> I'm on tumblr at awesomehartwintrash.tumblr.com.
> 
> I'll likely update once every two or three days, or as I am able. There will only be 5 chapters, so you won't be waiting forever.
> 
> Not entirely linear, but it’s mostly chronological with the film, so it should be easy to understand. Scenes and lines are taken from the movie, but as it’s an AU, expect adaptation.
> 
>   Self-betaed, not Brit-picked. Apologies in advance for any errors. PM me or comment if there’s something jarringly incorrect.  
> 
> This is not a fluffy monster, folks. It's not the darkest fix out there, but there's a reason I've tagged it the way it's been tagged. Check the tags and rating and consider yourselves warned and read or not accordingly. Tags cover the entire fic, not specific chapters, but I’ll mark individual chapters with specifics at the end. I'll update tags and add more as necessary.

There was little to be done the day Gary Unwin was born. Like any other child, he was born into the world small and weak. But unlike other children in his neighborhood, he was born different.

 

Both of his parents were marked with the coverts and primaries of their flock. The dun, muddy browns and ashy greys marked all of those born into the Nadir-flock of Homo avia as just that: the lowest. Given little in the way of education, training, or even social mobility, the numerous members of the Nadir-flock worldwide were the workers. They scraped, toiled, cooked, cleaned, scrubbed, repaired, and labored daily for little better than subsistence living. They were followers, the Nadir. They made up the majority of the enlisted ranks of every nation’s military, one of the few choices for upward mobility and the potential to break into the Ascent-flock’s middle class. They were the waiters and cooks, the sales associates (but never the managers). They lived within their means, having no other option. Crime rates among the Nadir were steadily rising, and the underworld Pinnacle leaders exploited members of this flock regularly.

All in all, being Nadir meant you were easily replaced, easily forgotten, and very easily cast off.  

But on a rainy and cold Easter morning, Gary Unwin was not so easily forgotten or cast off.   

“Push now, Michelle! One more good one!” The midwife at the foot of the delivery bed coached.

Labor for the poor woman on the bed before her hadn’t been easy. The babe was breech, and more worrisome, unfurled. Normally, an unfurled set of wings in the womb meant one of two things: the almost assured stillbirth of the infant, or the painful and oftentimes fatal injury to the mother. But for some miracle, the little one trying to come into the world wasn’t struggling. Though the waxy membrane that kept young nestlings’ wings tightly bound to their bodies until after birth was broken, the little one wasn’t fluttering them. If anything, the midwife mused, he was *listening* to the silent and muttered prayers of the delivery staff, begging him to just stay still until he was free.  

“Yer doin’ fine, love. Jus’ keep it nice an’ steady. Our little egg’s almost here, yeah?” Lee Unwin, the babe’s father, stroked his wife’s brow. He was home on leave, the Royal Marines not expecting him back for at least another month. Glad as he was to be by his wife’s side, he knew what grim expressions were meant when they made the medical staff’s wings flick and twitch. His own dull wings were tense, sheltering his wife as best they could given the confines of the delivery room.  

Michelle, beyond words at almost 30 hours in labor, groaned and nodded, pushing with as much energy as she could muster. With a cry of equal parts anguish and strength, she pushed her child into the world and collapsed back onto the bed. Her almost coal-black wings hung limply off the sides of the bed, their strength as wiped as the rest of her limbs. She lifted her head and smiled down at the midwife upon hearing her son’s first wails.

  What she did not hear, however, was anything else in the way of vocalization.

  “Wha- Lee? Lee, wha’s wrong? Let me ‘old him!” Michelle lifted two weak arms out, but received no answer still.  

It would take the hospital staff almost five full minutes to do more than clean the small boy and perform their tests, and no word was spoken among them beyond necessary instructions.

Likewise, Lee said nothing beyond, “They’re cleanin’ him up now” and absently stroked his wife’s brow. All too soon, however, the reason became very apparent to Michelle for the silence in the delivery room.

  

Her son, her beautiful, perfect little egg, had wings. Golden, sparkling, Pinnacle-flock wings.

  

***  

 

When Gary “Eggsy” Unwin was six, a Pinnacle man came to their small flat. He knew his father had gone away several months before, but his mum had said that he was with the Marines, and that he’d be back after his deployment was done. Eggsy didn’t know what a deployment was, but he figured it was like the sailing trips the pirates went on in his fairy stories book. He and his father would read a story every night, and while all the witches and ghosts were nice, his favorite were the stories about the knights. Eggsy thought they were even better than the dull-winged pirates that would swoop in and steal the enemy’s gold. They’d find a dragon, or a monster or even a terrible king, and they’d fly down on silver and golden wings that matched their shining armor, and slay the foul beast. Then they’d be honored and celebrated by the kind kings and queens. Eggsy figured that that was just about the best thing one could hope for, especially someone odd like him. To be liked by everyone, to be treated _the same as everyone else_ , these were highest hopes of the young nestling.

  But now, he wasn’t sure at all.  

The Pinnacle man had wings the color of a shiny new two-pence piece. They were coppery-gold, and shone softly in the dim lamp light like all Pinnacle wings seemed to do. Eggsy’s own golden wings were strapped tightly to his back under his shirt; his parents had decided from the get-go to keep his wings hidden. Eggsy didn’t know why, since their own matte wings hung free behind them, and what other children he saw had much the same as his parents. He supposed it was because they were the wrong color, but he couldn’t be sure.  

He watched quietly as the Pinnacle man sat with his mum and made her cry. And when the man turned to him, he responded as softly as he could, not wanting to make the man upset.  

The man had eyes the color of his apple juice, Eggsy decided. A kind, shiny brown. They matched the kind, shiny wings which seemed to be arcing over Eggsy in a protective, but passive sweep (as if their owner didn’t realize that he was stretching them out). It made Eggsy feel safe, safe enough to tell the man his name. His scent was intense, but calming. Spicy and warm, with a touch of tea and something undefinable. When the Pinnacle man asked his to keep a firm hold on the little medal he’d originally offered his mum, Eggsy readily agreed. His little fingertips touched the man’s warm hand when he showed him the snow globe and when he took the medal. There was nothing in the man’s demeanor to make Eggsy feel scared or upset like his mum was, and when the man finally stood and turned to leave, Eggsy didn’t feel particularly wrong in reaching out his little hand to touch a trailing copper primary.

  The effect was instantaneous.

_And it was glorious._

It felt like the sun on his skin, like the day his parents had taken him to the beach at Brighton. It felt like the rush of joy he got on Christmas morning, and the soft smell of his mother’s perfume when she would dress up for dinner out with his dad. It burned and chilled and bowed within him and it felt _right_. His wings itched against their straps, and the shivering burn traveled from his fingertips to the very tips of his bound wings, leaving little licks of heat along its path.  

Eggsy’s mum called out in worry to him and in his peripheral vision, he could see her throw out a shocked hand as if to stop him from across the room. The man stopped and turned his head sharply back at Eggsy who pulled his hand back as though he’d been burned. The Pinnacle man’s eyes looked darker, and his brow was pulled tightly together. Eggsy shrank back under the man’s heavy gaze and offered a timid look up.  

“I’m sorry,” he all but whispered.  

The man breathed in heavily and a sad sort of smile graced his face.  

“Quite all right, my boy. But we mustn’t touch others’ wings, yes?”  

Eggsy nodded, his face blazing with shame. It was the first and oldest rule he’d ever been taught: no touching another’s wings. Occasionally he’d see his mum and dad touch each other’s wings, preening and straightening the skewed feathers after a rough flight or a windy day, but it seemed limited to married people as far as Eggsy could tell. He knew it was something special, because the feathers that his mum and dad would most often touch were the small coverts that matched their own wings, a coal black set of feathers buried in his father’s grayish brown coverts, and an opposite set nestled in the secondaries of his mother’s wings. Maybe if it always felt like that, he’d like someone touching his wings. But he didn’t really know.

  “Won’t ‘appen again, sir.”

  The man smiled a bit more fully, and replied, “Of course, lad. Now, keep an eye on your mother, and remember: ‘Oxfords, not brogues.’”

  Eggsy found himself nodding again, and the man left as quietly as he’d come. Eggsy looked back to his mother and she rose to scoop him up in her arms and hold him close.

  “My sweet Egg. I’ve got some news, and yer not gonna like it. It’s ‘bout yer dad…”

After that, Eggsy knew what the kind man with the beautiful wings had meant when he’d said, “take care of your mother.”

 

***

 

The only good thing to ever come from Dean was Daisy.  

When Eggsy was 17, his mother had called frantically about three-quarters of the way through his Royal Marines training, sobbing into the phone. He couldn’t make out much, but he understood enough. His mum was pregnant, and in a moment of clarity she knew she couldn’t be alone with Dean during the pregnancy and birth. So Eggsy made the same sort of sacrificing decision he’d always made ( _to take care of your mother_ ) and came home.  

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as it turned out.  

The moment he arrived home he was greeted with the same sort of scene as always, a timid and bruised Michelle sitting meekly to the right of Dean on the now-dirty sofa. What was different, though, was the other man sitting there. A large man, wings ragged and dirt-dull, sat in a chair near the sofa. He was dressed much as the other lowlifes that hung around Dean, a low-end track suit and scuffed, off-brand track shoes. He leered as Eggsy came in to the flat, but said nothing.  

Dean, as always, said plenty.  

“Well now. Look who’s fuckin’ back ‘an all. Wot’s the matter, yeah? Can’t ‘ack it in the Royal Fuckalls, then?”

  Eggsy, having learned at a young age to simply stay silent when Dead got into one of his rants, said nothing. His lips were in a tight line at the sight of his mother’s injuries, but he’d learned that lesson as well. Nothing good came of fighting back against Dean, and though he’d dearly love nothing more than to kick the man’s teeth in, the accompanying prison sentence wasn’t one he was willing to endure. Not while his mother needed him still.

“Right. Well then, ‘bout time to start earnin' yer fuckin’ keep, then. Yer mum here’s been workin’ ‘hard fer me. Time fer you to do the same. ‘Specially since no one wants it wif a sloppy bird wif an egg on the way.”

Dean ran his hands intimately up Michelle’s leg with one hand, the other lazily flicking open and shut a switchblade. Eggsy bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from breaking the man’s hand. The coppery flavor made him think of the Pinnacle man from all those years ago, and the medal he still wore. But now was not the time to worry about days long gone. Not now.  

“The fuck you on about, Dean?” Eggsy finally spat.  

“What I’m on about is you, on yer fuckin’ back and on yer fuckin’ knees. Make more offa yer arse and mouf in a night than I would in a week of havin’ you runnin’ fer me.”  

Eggsy looked at his mother.  

“This why you called me home, then?”  

She didn’t answer. Her eyes seemed unfocused, and Eggsy knew it wasn’t any sort of emotional despair preventing her from speaking. Whatever Dean had her on was doing its job admirably.

“Oi! Fuckboy! This ain’t up fer fuckin’ discussion. You want to stay here, you want a fuckin’ bed and to eat my fuckin’ food, you gonna fuckin’ earn it. Got yer first paying customer right ‘ere, an’ all,” Dean pronounced, a smug look on his filthy face. His smoke colored wings seemed to shiver as he spoke, belying his excitement.  

The other man stood up and reached a hand out to try and Stroke Eggy’s face. Eggsy slapped his hand away and took a step back.  

“You come near me, mate, and we’re gonna have a fuckin’ go,” Eggsy ground out.  

Dean was on his feet faster than Eggsy would have imagined, pressing the switchblade to Eggsy’s throat.  

“See, you seem to fink that this is a fuckin’ choice. It ain’t. Either get suckin’ or I’m gonna make yer mum do it in front o’ you after I get done beating in yer fuckin’ ribs. Then I’m gonna turn yer queer little arse out anyway, and you’ll be fucked twice as ‘ard, twice as long.”

Something within Eggsy snapped. He brought his hands up and shoved Dean as hard as he could, catching the older man off guard with his strength, now honed by months of military training. The switchblade skittered across his collarbone, drawing a thin line of fire across the thin skin there, but Eggsy barely felt it. He kicked Dean square in the chest, but before he was able to turn to face the other man in the room, a dirty, ragged wing buffeted him across the back. Eggsy groaned and tried to turn into the next blow.

‘Shoulda’ fuckin’ known better’n to turn me back. Fuck’s sake,’ he thought, hitting the filthy floor roughly.  

Having kept his golden wings tied and strapped to his back for most of his life, Eggsy knew in theory how to defend or fight offensively with them, as many Nadir-flock were liable to do. But his parents’ insistence on keeping them hidden, and then his own fear of Dean discovering them, had meant that Eggsy never really tested out the violent motions now raining down on him alongside meaty fists. Sure, he’d unfurled them at night to fly before, and kept them free when he was able so they didn’t atrophy. But there was something to be said for the hefty man’s brute strength in his dismal wings. Soon enough, shoes at his ribs joined the fists, and between Dean and the larger man, Eggsy was soon reduced to groans of pain and twitching wings under his jacket.  

Thankfully, though, the kicks stopped. A hand grabbed him roughly and hauled him up to his knees. Eggsy felt warmth on his brow, and the blood in his eyes made his vision swim. His chin was jerked up and Dean’s hatchet-like face grinned darkly down at him.

  “Now wot did I fuckin’ say, Egg? You asked fer this, yeah?” Eggsy was thrown back onto the ground, though he was able to press a shaking hand out to prevent his complete fall. He started to rise again, but the clammy, calloused hand of the larger man held him down on his knees. Eggsy watched in dawning horror as Dean grabbed Michelle from the sofa by her arm and all but dragged her, unresisting but limp, to the ground in front of him. This close, he could see her eyes were glassy and unrecognizing. Whether she was truly lucid enough in her own mind to realize what was happening on front of her, he didn’t know. To be sure, though, he didn’t really _want_ to know.  

Dean’s hand fell heavily on Michelle’s shoulder and she sagged against the man’s leg, seemingly unable to hold herself upright. He smirked down at Eggsy.  “Now then. My friend ‘ere is gonna ‘ave a nice time wif ya, and if yer lucky, I’ll let ya keep some o’ yer earnin’s.”

  Eggsy struggled against the hand on his nape, but the flashing shocks of pain in his ribs and kidneys told him that struggling further wasn’t going to end well. Still, he put up quote the effort when the large man’s other hand grabbed the zipper of his jacket and yanked it down harshly. Eggsy knew what was coming, but he refused to allow it to happen without a fight.  

“You get the fuck offa me, fuckin’ prick! I’ll fuckin’ kill you fer this!” he shouted in vain. The hand on his zipper rose and grabbed a fist full of Eggsy’s thin cotton t-shirt and ripped. Unbeknownst to the man, however, was the fact that he had grabbed the front of Eggsy’s wing-straps. Eggsy realized this in stilted horror as he felt his wings bracket outward swiftly and angrily, ripping his tattered shirt and jacket to shreds in their rush. They shoved the rough man backwards with their force and their span, and the extreme motion there Eggsy forward into his hands and knees. Feathers the color of sunlight ruffled in distress and Eggsy was sure that the look of shock and awe on Dean’s face was mirrored in the rougher man’s. 

It was not, as it were.  

“Fuck no, guv. I ain’t goin’ to the fuckin’ Hutch fer takin’ this little cuckoo.” The large man’s voice was roughened from years of smoke and alcohol, but there was no mistaking the real fear of the prison known to most simply as "the Hutch" in it to Eggsy’s ears. He could feel the vibrations in the floor of the man getting to his feet and moving around, but it wasn’t until a feeling like every worst sort of violation came over him that Eggsy realized what was happening.  

_The man was touching his wings._

And none too gently, really. Eggsy cried out in a broken moan of _shame-sadness-hatred-wrong_ and felt himself pitch sharply away from the violating hand. It didn’t matter. The man’s hands were buried in Eggsy’s feathers, and the extension of his wing was forced.  

Dean’s eyes widened and then narrowed.  

“So yer a fuckin’ cuckoo, then. A fuckin’ mated cuckoo. Shoulda’ fuckin’ known yer slut of a mum wasn’ no good. Bet yer dad was right chuffed to see them toffed up wings o’ yers.”  

Eggsy looked blankly at Dean, the feeling of violation still echoing around his head. Each twitch and shuffle of his wings against the large man’s hands sparked a new wave of nauseous misery in him, but he focused long enough against the emotional turbulence to let Dean’s words register.  

“Ain’t a fuckin’ cuckoo. Me dad was me dad. ‘Ad the tests ’n all to prove it,” he spat out, trying and failing to keep the disgust out of his voice. “An’ what the fuck d’you mean, mated? Ain’t ever ‘ad a fuckin’ mate, now ‘ave I!

”  Dean’s mercenary laugh made Eggsy’s blood feel like ice.

  “Look fer yerself then, cuckoo.” Dean gestured at the outstretched wing, and Eggsy turned his head to see. Hissing at the pain in his shoulders at the strange angle, Eggsy dared to take his eyes off of Dean and glance at his wing. It took him longer than he would like to register what he was seeing.  

There, buried among the primaries of his wingtip, were three burnished, coppery-gold feathers.

The furthest was the darkest, and the other two faded gradually back into the sun-shot gold of his own wings, a beautiful sort of ombre. It made his wings look as if he’d dipped the very tips of them in copper-colored ink, soaking into the lighter feathers further up.

  “No mate then, Egg? Then wot the fuck are those?”  

Eggsy had no answer. He turned back to face Dean, but it was his mother’s face his eyes sought. Her own wings, though drooped, still bore the greying brown of his father’s wings in them. But, as was always the case with a dead mate, they were tipped in white. Michelle’s eyes flickered a bit under Eggsy’s questioning gaze, but shuttered soon enough and she drifted away again. A shattered mate-bond was no laughing matter, and she’d been dealing with it for years.

  Dean’s hand slapping across his cheek snapped Eggsy out of his musing.  

“Well don’ fink this changes any of it, yeah? Might not be able to take it out o’ yer arse now, but ain’t no mate-bond able to tell wot you do wif yer mouth. An’ if I can’t touch ye too rough to make me point, well then. ‘Ere’s yer mum.”

To drive home his point, Dean drove his fist into Michelle’s face, causing both her and Eggsy to cry out. Michelle dropped where she leaned against Dean’s legs, her arm outstretched towards Eggsy.

“That one’s fer yer back talk.” Dean struck his mother again, this time a sharp kick to her unprotected ribs.

“That was fer yer fightin’ back.” Dean delivered another kick, the toes of his trainers catching Michelle in the soft part of her stomach. She gurgled a pained moan and lay still.  

“An’ that’s to remind ye not to try nothin’ funny. Every time ‘e feels teeth, yer mum is gonna feel it too. Get to fuckin’ work.”  Eggsy’s eyes never strayed from his mother’s face as she was kicked, and seeing the tears that welled up made up his mind for him. He ruthlessly shoved down his bile and got to work.

  Much later, after he had retched, twice, cleansed his mouth with burning rotgut filched from Dean’s liquor stash, and had showered within an inch of his life, he helped his mother to bed. He’d retied his wings after his shower, and very pointedly did not look at the copper tips. Whoever, wherever his mate was, he or she didn’t need to intrude on this private hell. As he turned out the light and made to head for his own room he heard her soft voice.

  “You fly from ‘ere, my sweet Egg. It’s alright.”  

Eggsy shook his head derisively.

  “No mum, I’m ‘ere fer good. Got to keep you safe, yeah? You an’ the little one.”

  “Won’t be a little one, my sweet Egg. Never lets me keep ‘em.” Michelle’s voice petered out as exhaustion and narcotics overtook her.

Eggsy’s face darkened, and he left without another thought.

  True to her word, there was no nestling. Eggsy’s second day was spent with his mother at A&E, a simple lie of “a terrible fall down the stairs trying to get the groceries up to the flat, doctor,” and pitying glances as words like “miscarriage” and “strain of another pregnancy could be devastating to your mother’s health” were tossed about. Dean didn’t bother accompanying them, (“never does,” says Michelle, clear of all but the hospital administered painkillers) but he was back at the council flat when Eggsy returned home. Another “friend” sat in the chair from last night. Dean’s eyes narrowed at Eggsy, and he nodded his head towards the man. Eggsy dithered for only a moment before swallowing his bile once more and got to work, " _take care of your mum"_ ringing in his head.

 

***  

 

Eventually, however, Dean _did_  let a little one stay.

Four years after he’d come home from the Marines, Dean’s fortunes had risen somewhat. He no longer brought “friends” home for Eggsy to entertain, though the threat always remained. Eggsy found himself putting his skills into practice a few times a month for spare cash, what jobs there were to be found in the squalid neighborhood didn’t pay enough to be worth the hassle. But as he grew out of the gangly limbs and awkward strength of his teens into something a little more adult, Dean put him to work in all sorts of other ways: thefts, carjackings, breaking and entering, and one memorable occasion, dressing up as a novice priest of the Anglican church (apparently Dean _needed_ the solid gold cross adorning the wall of the elder priest). The only jobs Eggsy ever turned down were those that involved selling drugs or trafficking drugs. Dean wasn’t into human trafficking, really, so he simply used mules and lackeys to move whatever cut-rate product he was tasked with selling.

Though he never involved himself in the actual sale or distribution of the drugs, Eggsy was an excellent point-man and scout. He picked up free-running from a YouTube video, matching his gymnastics skills and natural aerial grace with the pounding steps and leaps made popular by the adventurous flightless from within the Ascent-flock.  

Through accident or atrophy, not all people could fly. Some were born with defects of the wings, others had their wings contract diseases that caused them to drop the necessary feathers for flight. The worst, in Eggsy’s opinion, were those who just stopped using their wings and let the muscles wither. He was careful with his own bound wings, taking care to exercise them whenever possible, and whenever he was far enough away from his neighborhood to not attract the wrong kind of attention. Dean had never again commented upon his golden wings, but he knew that it was not forgotten. Perhaps it was filed away to be used against him later, perhaps he simply didn’t care. Whatever the reason, Eggsy remained on guard and refused to let his friends and neighbors see the golden expanse across his shoulder blades.

  The thrill of free-running was one he thoroughly enjoyed. Those flightless from the Nadir-flock were simply forgotten and pitied. They rarely had the time to play or enjoy life the way the Ascent- and Pinnacle-flocks did, and it showed in this activity. The leaps, tucks, rolls and pitches of free-running were freeing in a way Eggsy had only felt in flight. And if he couldn’t fly during the day, he sure as hell could run. He was good at it, too. Every leap and landing, every twist midair and footfall was placed instinctually, as if he knew before he even moved exactly where he’d be.

It was quite the skill, and Dean put it to good use. Eggsy was nearly silent as he moved, and while people always kept their street level doors and windows locked, they forgot about the upper floor. The Nadir-flock was inclined to take off from their own room’s window ledge or fire escape, and thus had learned that it was just as likely an entry point as it was an exit. They kept them locked when not in use, accordingly. Ascents and Pinnacles, however, were civilized; they took the front door and left their bedroom windows and balcony doors unlocked without a thought. Even if they did think about flighted thieves coming through the windows, the higher flocks anticipated seeing or hearing the wings of their intruders in enough time to alert the authorities; they never expected someone who’d just crawl up the downspout or pull himself up by the balcony ledge and over the balustrade. It made breaking and entering incredibly easy, and Eggsy was the best of Dean’s crew at it.

This meant that finally, Dean was pulling in enough money to be a magnanimous prick about Michelle’s latest pregnancy:

  “Fink it’ll be good to ‘have a little one around. Y’know, someone to raise up like I want.”

Dean kept his hand possessively on Michelle’s stomach whenever he’d start spouting off about the coming nestling. Michelle, for all her faults, managed to get and stay clean during the pregnancy. Dean even managed not to strike her more than a few blows about the face, superficial but colorful.  

Eggsy didn’t trust the stalemate of domesticity one bit. With that in mind, he started taking outside jobs from other street kings. Again, no drugs, but he put his non-sexual skills through their paces taking jobs left and right. He was whisked all across London, from fine homes to dockside warehouses. Plenty of fistfights and knife fights broke up the monotony of scavenging for information, and the cut he demanded was low enough to warrant repeat business from others.  

When the heat got too bad from the Met, or Dean got especially pissed about him working for someone else’s interests, he’d lay low for a week or two, and head back to Smith Street to earn extra on his knees.

  Smith Street was an education on its own; the pros and the amateurs like himself working different corners and getting into regular fights. It was there that he learned he’d have better luck in clubs (less split lips from angry rivals, as well). So Eggsy spent his off-time in some of London’s finest clubs, earning his drinks and more. He was safe at least; after the first “client” he’d insisted on condoms. Somehow is argument that he’d make more of a profit clean and without needing expensive treatments that were only partially covered by the NHS had made it through Dean’s thick skull. It only took one bloodied and beaten client who had tried to insist on a raw job for word to get around to most of the regulars he saw. The men he pulled in clubs wanted to keep it clean as well, so he rarely ran into issues there.  

The only real trouble he found himself in was with the police. He’d been picked up and released a few times in his teens, mostly for underage drinking, but now he had a few actual charges in his file. A couple of thefts gone bad, three turns with a john that ended up being a sting operation, and a never-ending series of fistfights outside the club with johns that didn’t feel like paying what they owed. His arrest record had doubled the summer Michelle was pregnant, and doubled again by the time she was ready to give birth in mid-Autumn.  

He was readying himself for another job for Dean when his mobile rang. The number was unfamiliar, but that wasn’t really anything new.  

“Yeah?” he answered after a couple of rings.  

“Is this Mr. Gary Unwin? I’m calling from East Street Hospital.”

  “Yeah, I’m Egs- Gary Unwin. Everythin’ alright?”

  “You’re the listed family member for Michelle Unwin? We’ve got her here in our maternity ward. She’s headed into surgery for a cesarian-section. We’ll need you to come down and sign some paperwork as her medical proxy.”  

“The nestlin’s comin’ now?! Yeah, I’m on me way.” Eggsy stripped out of the black hoodie and put on one of his regular track jackets and a snapback. No need to look completely rough at the hospital building, he figured.

  He made his way to the building his mother was resting in. It took a chunk of cash from his coffee-tin-in-the-wall-behind-his-headboard savings account, but it was worth it when he saw his mother being wheeled out of the long ward and into surgery. The tired smile she gave him made him smile in return.

  He was led to the family area to sign off on paperwork, and made the decision to go ahead and call Dean to tell him about the birth. He pulled out his mobile from his track jacket and dialed.  

“Yeah, wot?”

  “It’s Eggsy. Mum’s in ‘ospital ‘aving the nestlin’. You want to come down?”

  “Why the fuck would I do that? S’not my cuckoo, not my problem. And don’t take too fuckin’ long either. Job’s still on tonight, innit.”

Dean left the conversation as quickly as he’d answered.  

Eggsy stared at his mobile for a while, shaking his head. If the prick didn’t want the little one, good riddance. It’d make getting out of there easier, legally-speaking. He knew, of course, that Dean forced as many men on his mother in her drugged fugues as he had on Eggsy. She’d stopped resisting years ago. But to be so callously referred to and summarily dismissed made Eggsy’s blood boil. He could feel his wings twitch under his shirt, straining to break free and take him flying to where he could beat Dean’s face into the curb.  

His dark thoughts were interrupted by a nurse touching him lightly on the shoulder. Eggsy shook himself free of the shadows and looked up at him, pasting a smile on his face for the man.  

The nurse smiled down at him and said, “Your mum’s out of surgery. She and the babe are doing just fine. Your mum’s gonna be out of it from the medication for a few hours, and the babe needs fed. Want to come back and see to it, big brother?”

  “Y’know, I really do.” Eggsy gave the nurse a blinding smile and followed him back to the ward. Eggsy saw his mother sleepily looking at the little nestling in the bassinet, and she smiled wanly at Eggsy when she saw him.  

“Gonna have to look after ‘er, sweet Egg. She’s gonna need ‘her big bruv.” Michelle wasn’t yet strong enough to lift the little girl to Eggsy’s arms, but she kept a tired hand on her little ankle as Eggsy took the small girl up. She had Eggsy’s hair, and Michelle’s pointed nose. Her eyes had a shape all their own, but the color was so similar to his own that Eggsy couldn’t help but smile widely down at the little girl. There was nothing of Dean in her, and Eggsy wasn’t surprised given Dean’s pronouncement on the phone earlier. Whoever her father was didn’t matter. She was theirs now.

He felt her little wings flutter under the swaddling, and he poked a finger around the back of the blanket to sneak a peek at them. Eggsy almost dropped her in shock when what he saw was a mass of fluffy, pure white.

True white wings were rare. They weren’t understood, they had no discernible genetic or scientific explanation, but they were as rare to Nadirs and they were to Ascents and Pinnacles. White wings were almost a commodity, a thing to be displayed rather than used. Those born with fully white wings were, in some ways treated more like the Nadir-flock than anyone would care to admit. They were kept out of higher learning and the military. Medical training and the sciences were denied them as well. Most became overfed local celebrities, the idea that their wing color made them somehow special in a way that no other flock could muster. Encouraged to explore artistic and musical pursuits, homemaking, child-bearing and rearing, and generally non-thinking domestic roles, they were as trapped in the gilded cages of class warfare as the lowest Nadir. Fashion trends bleached feathers white, and some people had streaks or whole swaths of white because of injuries or medications. But a full set of white at birth was beyond compare.  

Eggsy’d known one other child in their neighborhood with white wings growing up, but his were attributable to a cancer treatment he’d received as very, very young boy. Small smatterings of his original brown could still be found in the coverts closest to his body, but given that those were almost always covered by clothing, they weren’t often seen. The poor kid had been gawked at at primary school, and finally had resorted to dyeing his wings a brown closer to his original coloring when he’d moved to a different school.  

But now, as he held his little sister, he felt none of the gawk and curiosity that had plagued his thoughts about the other boy. Now all he felt was a fierce protectiveness and a rush of love so intense he thought it would stagger him.

  “Sweet lil’ thing. All that yellow hair and them fine white wings. What ever are we gonna call you?”  

“Your mum called her her ‘Daisy flower’ when she saw her,” said the nurse from behind him. Eggsy turned to the man and raised an eyebrow in interest.  

“Oh yeah? ‘Daisy.’ Think that fits, m’love? My lil’ flowah.” The nestling in his arms gurgled.

The nurse came to Eggsy’s side and handed him a small bottle of baby’s milk. “Your mum indicated on her intake paperwork that she wasn’t planning on breastfeeding the little one. Do you have formula at home, or would you like us to send you home with a bit until you can get to the shops?”  

“Got a can at home waitin’, yeah. Weren’t sure when this one was comin’ y’know. Figured it were a good idea to stock up ahead of time. Got a box of nappies, too.”

  “Good. Always good to be prepared. Now, I’m not trying to pry, but your mum also indicated this was her second birth with… different wings. I’m assuming you were the first?” The nurse had the good grace to at least look a bit embarrassed by the question.

  “Er, yeah. M’wings aren’t the same color as most. Nothin’ weird, just the wrong color. ‘Ad a bunch of tests run when I was this one’s age and they couldn’t find nothin.” Eggsy motioned to the girl in his arms, and tipped the warm bottle into her waiting mouth.  

“Right. We just thought maybe there was some sort of genetic component. But if they’re sure yours aren’t… well it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry to bother you about it.” The nurse ducked his head and apology, but gave Eggsy a look that said he had further questions.  

Eggsy sighed and sat down by his mother’s bed.

“Go on then. Ask. I can see ‘em questions in yer eyes, mate.”  

The nurse nodded shortly and asked, “So what’s wrong with yours?”  

“Nothin’ wrong, like I said. Just, me folks are Nadirs. Everyone ‘round the estate is Nadir. Suppose that makes me Nadir too, but if you’d tell me wings that, they’d not believe you.” Eggsy shrugged his jacket neck open a bit and tugged at his t-shirt collar with one hand, his other cradling the baby and the bottle awkwardly. A flash of gold feather peeked through the neckline of his clothing and the nurse’s eyes widened bit. His own reddish Ascent’s wings, patterned with a mate’s bright orange, shook a bit in shock.  

“Oh. I, uh. I didn’t realize.” The nurse tried to look anywhere but at Eggsy. In response, Eggsy chortled a bit.  

“M’not a cuckoo. Like I said, ran tests an’ all. I’m me dad’s son. Got the papers at ‘home to prove it. Just, weird colored.”  

“Can I be frank?” The nurse looked around to see if others might be listening, and finding none, moved closer to Eggsy.

  “Course.”

  “Don’t tell people. If anyone knows, make sure _they_ don’t tell either. There have been a few reports like yours, where an otherwise normal child is born with wings the color of a different flock, without any explanation as to why. It almost never ends well for the child. The…” The nurse trailed off and dropped his voice to a whisper. “the Pinnacles would see you and anyone else like you with ‘wrong wings’ disappear. It defies the idea that they deserve their positions because they’re ‘the best.’”  

Eggsy nodded slowly, digesting the information. He’d wondered as a child why his parents bound his wings, had avoided putting his wing color information on school forms and physicals. But it made sense, if what the nurse was saying was true. The world was removed from a time period where Pinnacles were treated as kings, and theoretically equality was a law in most developed nations, but it was only on paper for Nadirs and Pinnacles. The Pinnacle-flock was tightly knit into tradition, and despite the romance novels and soap operas that said otherwise, nadirs did not magically jump up in class just because some Pinnacle with dirty brown mate-feathers said so. He didn’t think they’d ever go so far as to kill someone born with the wrong wings, but what did he know? He wasn’t anyone.

  The nurse looked at him and continued, “Your parents did you a favor keeping your wings pinned. Just… just be careful. My mate’s sister was like you. Born to Ascent-flock and wings that matched some blue bloods up in Pinnacle-flock. She ended up, well, nowhere good at any rate. Just be careful, please. I know you don’t know me from Adam, but I don’t want to see someone else go down that path.” The nurse clapped a friendly, warm hand on Eggsy’s shoulder and Eggsy found himself nodding in agreement with the man in front of him.

He glanced down at the little girl in his arms. Her eyes met his, and he knew in that instant he’d do whatever it took to keep her safe, the world be damned. She could be whatever she wanted, and he’d never let anyone tell her otherwise.  

Then she vomited formula and whatever else it is that infants vomit all over his track jacket.

  Truly, it was love.

 

  ***

 

  When Daisy was just a year old, Eggsy knew something had to change. He had come home from a night-time drop early in the day to see her in her playpen, face red with snot and long-shed tears. Her onesie was soiled beyond belief and a rancid bottle was tucked away next to her, drained of its milk and reeking of yesterday’s dinner. Her white wings were streaked with her own night filth, the scent of them stale in the warm flat. Dean was absent. His mum was passed out on the sofa, her hair a rat’s nest and the clear foamy spittle of her nightly drug binges crusted around her lips. Eggsy watched her long enough to see she was breathing, and he turned back to Daisy and picked her up.  

“There’s my lovely flowah! My Dais! Let’s you an’ me go get a nice bath goin’ and we’ll get you all cleaned up! Doesn’ that sound nice?” Eggsy kept his voice soft and jovial, though it was a false sort of happiness. He took her to their little bathroom and stripped her efficiently from her filthy things and got a warm bath running. Eggsy got her clean, and let her play a bit while he texted his friends to see if they’d be up for a pint later that night. He was spending less and less time around the flat, only really returning to sleep and keep track of Daisy. Finally, he lifted Daisy out of the bath and set about drying her off and getting her redressed with a clean nappie. He used the extremely soft brush to brush her wispy hair and fluff her feathers gently and she cooed in glee at the sensation.  

“See now, my love? All better.” Eggsy put Daisy in his room at this, and went back to the small living room to clean the playpen’s soiled bedding. They had no washing machine and dryer in the flat itself, so he put the linens into a laundry bag, returned to his room for Daisy, and carried her, the bag, and himself down the flights of stairs to the communal launderette. He’d learned quickly which machines required no coins (and which could be tampered with to swipe the coins therein), so he set about getting things cleaned quickly.

  Eggsy played a bit with Daisy waiting for the wash, and when she started to tier, he simply picked her up, tilted his chair back against the wall so she could recline on his chest, and pulled out his mobile to play around while she napped peacefully. He kept his free hand on her back just under her little wings, and every so often he’d smile down at there as he felt and saw her little wings twitch and flutter with dreams. He was disturbed about halfway through her nap when a neighbor came in with her own basket of laundry, but her kind smile at the scene before her didn’t disrupt him beyond a returned grin.  

The time came to change the laundry from the wash to the dryer, and the woman was kind enough to let him place Daisy down in her laundry basket to rest while he finished up swapping the wet fabric. He hopped up to sit on an unused machine and offered the chair to the woman. Time passed with Snapchats and videos on YouTube, until Daisy shuffled a bit. He set down his mobile and looked in on her. She settled back down and returned to napping. Pocketing his mobile, he looked around a bit. His neighbor’s voice interrupted his aimlessness.

  “You can just keep ‘er in there fer now if ye want, love. Give ye a chance to stretch a bit and fer her to get her quiet time in.” The neighbor smiled again as she said this, her eyes crinkling up only the way a grandmother’s might, half in mischief and half in love.  

“Ta. I could use a bit in the loo. Mind keepin’ an eye fer a mo’?” Eggsy stood and rolled his shoulders, shaking out the tension that had developed from leaning on them awkwardly and from perching uncomfortably on the machine.

  “Not at all, lad. Go on then. We’ll be safe as ‘ouses.”

  Eggsy gave a short nod in thanks and ducked out to the hallway. There was a bathroom near the launderette and he made quick use of it. As he washed his hands, he noticed that in the shuffling and motions of the day, the chain which held his father’s medal had come untucked from his polo collar. He tucked it back in gently, the feel of the metal hot against his palm. Every time he touched it, he remembered copper wings, spice, amber eyes and a kind voice telling him “ _Oxfords, not brogues._ ” He wasn’t really entirely sure why he remembered this, but as best he could tell, it meant something important. His memories from before his father died were sketchy at best, and those from the half-year after his father’s death were almost gone in grief and confusion. He shook off the trip down memory lane and headed back out to the hallway.

  He returned to find Daisy napping as peacefully as he had left her, and the kindly neighbor watching her in between poking around her mobile. Her dark wings were folded high over Daisy in a time-honored position of protection, one almost every mother used instinctively with a nestling.

“Napped just like an angel, that one. Sweet little thing she it,” the woman mused, watching Daisy’s chest rise and fall, her small snores barely noticeable over the rumbling machines around them.

  “Thanks.”  

“Anytime, love.” The woman dithered a bit, but caught Eggsy’s gaze. “S’not my place to say nothin’, but if you need a place to take ‘er… I’m just a few doors down, aren’ I?” She looked at Eggsy with a pointed expression.

  He let out a breath more raggedly than expected, and nodded more gravely than before. “I… thanks. I promise, I’ll take you up on it if I need. Mum’s good most days, but… you know ‘ow it is.”

  “That I do, lad.”  

The buzzer of the dryer sounded, and it woke up Daisy, who whimpered a bit and sat up in the basket.  

“Oh, ‘ush now, my lil’ flowah. That nasty old buzzer won’t bother you anymore.” Eggsy knelt by Daisy and gave her a small hug before rising and opening the dryer door. He removed the warm, dry bedding from the machine and folded them neatly and swiftly on the machine top he had sat on previously. Stuffing the folded stack into the laundry bag, he turned and watched Daisy trying to use the walls of the woman’s laundry basket to stand up. He slung the now full laundry bag over his shoulder and bent to pick up Daisy one handed. She clambered up obligingly into his arms and grasped his neck with strong little arms.  

“Thanks again fer watchin’ over ‘er. Means a lot.” Eggsy thanked the neighbor again.

  “Weren’t nothin’, love. Just keep that little one safe and ‘appy, yeah? And come on by if you need to.”  

Eggsy shot her a sunny smile and went back upstairs.  

The rest of the day unfolded as usual; Dean returned from wherever it was he went, drunk and stinking. Eggsy’s mum awoke, made something to eat for herself and Daisy, and spent the rest of the day quietly at Dean’s side or performing meaningless tasks about the flat. Eggsy stayed in his room, sleeping for several hours before awakening to the alarm he had set on his phone. He showered in cold water, and got ready to go out with his friends in record time. After settling the snapback on his head as the final piece of his outfit for the night, he grabbed the medal from where he’d set it down before his shower. He stared at himself in the mirror for a bit, slipped the medal on, and studied it. It was a garish sort of pink enamel, twined metal in what Eggsy always thought looked like an open book in profile. The back was stamped with the date his father had died, and if it was supposed to be a telephone number like he thought it might be, it needed a few more numbers.

  He searched his own eyes in the mirror and nodded absently before heading out for the evening.  

 

***

 

  “ _We hope we have not lost you as a loyal customer._ ”

  What the fuck was that supposed to mean? 

The harried looking Ascent with the wine-colored wings that had tried interrogating him had gotten under his skin. The squalor he’d found Daisy in that morning, coupled with the fear that he’d have no home to return to once he got out of prison was enough to prompt him to use the half-formed memory and the number off the medal around his neck. He couldn’t leave her alone in that family, or he’d never see her again, he was sure of it. Much as Eggsy loved his mother, he knew she was unfit to care for Daisy without some sort of sober adult in the mix of people coming and going from the flat. Dean wouldn’t do it. Eggsy was sure that he’d ignore her just as much even if she were his true flesh and blood. The fact that she wasn’t made it no less callous, but could be rationalized easier in the dark parts of Eggsy’s mind. 

Now, though, he was desperate. If nothing came from this wasted phone call, he’d beg the officer for a second one, one to Family Services. As much as the man might dislike Eggsy and his ilk, no one could turn down an earnest plea like that, he figured.  

His thoughts were interrupted when a different Ascent came in and motioned for Eggsy to stand up.

  “C’mon kid. You’re going home.”  

“What?”  

“You heard me, you fucking dodo. Get out of here.” The man pointed at the open door, and Eggsy went through it, fully expecting to be handcuffed or halted somehow.  

But, much to his surprise, it never came.

  “Eggsy.”

  Eggsy stopped. The voice that called his name seemed familiar somehow, as if from a dream.

“Would you like a lift home?”

He turned, and saw a man leaning against the stairway wall. He wore a dark suit, and his wings spread out in what Eggsy could only describe as “nonchalant.” Eggsy stared a moment before his mouth caught up with his brain.

“Who are you?”

“The man who got you released,” the man said dryly. His copper colored wings flicked in almost imperceptible annoyance before settling back down far too stiffly to be anything other than on purpose. Eggsy hadn’t been raised in the council flats for nothing, however. Tracking the kinds of minute shifts in expressions and wings was one of the first skills he’d picked up after Dean showed up on the scene. It kept more than one broken bone or savage beating from happening, and to Eggsy, it was a skill well worth having learned. This tiny flicker told him several things about the man, chief among them that whoever this was in front of him, he was possessed of incredible self control. However, Eggsy knew, there was something off about the man, though it didn't immediately register as a red flag of danger to him. If we were pressed, he'd almost say it felt  _safe._

Whether he was familiar with the man or he was simply reticent of strange Pinnacles, he couldn’t say. So he squared his jaw and shot back, “That ain't an answer.”

What he received in return was a pointed look and another flicker of wings.

“A little gratitude would be nice.”

Eggsy smirked a bit at this. He rarely found people readily willing to snark back to him, and finding that kind of trait among a member of the Pinnacle-flock was a bit of a coup. The man pushed off from the wall, his umbrella hanging from his left arm and his wings folding up demurely behind him. It was then that Eggsy was given the full view of the man’s wings. Copper feathers, shining and vibrant, from the man’s back to almost the wingtip flashed in the sunlight dimly. But what caught Eggsy’s eyes was the tip of each wing, and their final three feathers. From the coppery shade of the man’s primaries fading into a sunlit gold, the man’s last three feathers on each wing were almost an inverted match to his own pinned wings.

“My name is Harry Hart. And I gave you that medal. Your father saved my life.”

 

***

 

  ‘And to think,’ Eggsy mused inwardly as he caught sight of Dean’s boys, ‘we were having such a delightful time.’  

 

Eggsy looked to Harry, and told him to go. There was little to be gained by having the man who had gotten him out of such a large scrape get right back into one alongside Eggsy. Though, if Eggsy were being honest with himself, he was a bit disappointed when harry so readily gave up and stood to leave.

But this disappointment soon gave way to liquid ice when he heard Rottie say, “If you're looking for another rent boy they're on the corner of Smith Street.”  

Eggsy closed his eyes in shame. While he’d never really been too ashamed of doing what it took to keep his mum as safe as he could (despite Dean making her sell her body even after Eggsy got back from the Marines, Eggsy took the more violent clients away from her), he was filled with something burning and _wrong_ in his gut knowing that Harry had now heard as much. But when he heard the click-click of the pub’s locks engaging, and Harry’s tenor sounding almost bored with the proceedings, Eggsy knew something drastic was going to happen. He felt a very real and visceral fear for Harry in the three-breaths’ worth of time it took Harry to transform from a vaguely attractive, sardonic older man into some kind of wild creature from the darkest recesses of Eggsy’s most deeply buried fantasies. It wasn’t the violence that made his heart stutter or his old jeans become too stifling. No, it was the almost leonine grace that Harry used. He moved like some sort of lethal cat playing with its food. He was all sinewy grace and lean motion, lithe muscles built not in a gym or on a weight bench, but from the work of his own two hands.

  And what beautiful work it was. The phrase “poetry in motion” had always seemed a little trite to Eggsy, but if ever there was a time it applied, he figured this was it.

Eggsy knew he must look like the worst sort of dumbfounded idiot, his jaw opened and his eyes as wide as Daisy’s at Christmas time. But, if he were honest with himself, he couldn’t really be arsed to care. He felt something profound in his soul shift watching Harry move back to the table, and seeing him all but collapse into the seat and look so lost for a moment made something deep within his very being all but scream into his mind _help-heal-comfort-protect-avenge!_

Eggsy’s eyes tracked the long line of Harry’s neck as he swallowed the last bit of his Guinness, but he was unable to bring himself to stare anywhere else until Harry was pointing the god damned knock-out watch at his face.  

As quickly as his protestations fell from his lips, his hands shot to the air in surrender. His heart rose in his chest and the need to help Harry devolved into a repeating,disquieting tangle of _don’t leave don’t leave don’t leave don’t leave me please don’t leave me here alone._

  “Much appreciated, Eggsy,” was all he heard. Anything else was lost in the twin sensations of Harry’s hand on his shoulder and the piercing shot of despair at seeing him leave.

Eggsy sat there, waiting for his heart rate to fall and for his painful erection to wilt, all the while trying to silently memorize every detail he could recall about how Harry moved, how Harry spoke. The touch to his shoulder felt like a brand even though the thick jacket, and he became aware of the fact that his wings were making his torso all but vibrate in their twitchiness to escape their strapped confines. After what seemed like hours, but must have only been a few minutes, he heard the first stirrings of Dean’s goons and he snapped out of his fugue. He bolted from the pub, head whipping back and forth to see if Harry were anywhere outside, but all he saw were the usual cars and neighborhood people. He stood there for a moment more and finally jammed his hands inside his jacket pockets.

“Yer a stupid fucker, Eggsy Unwin. Lettin’ all that walk away without even a word.” He shook his head as he muttered to himself. Shrugging his shoulders up a bit and hunching into himself, Eggsy began the walk home, unknowing that the small tracker and microphone attached to his jacket was already transmitting.  

 

***

 

Merlin, Eggsy decided, was either going to be trouble or his best friend. He had all the mannerisms of a polite aide-de-camp, and the mercenary steel core of his hardest instructors at the Royal Marines. Eggsy had approached the man after an hour or so of arriving at the Kingsman barracks with a question burning in his mind.  

“Is there a private bathroom, sir?”  

Merlin stared at him with all the same kind of affable amusement that a glacier might. Then he laughed. A full throated, deeply disturbing cackle wrenched its way from his mouth and he affected the motion of wiping a tear from his eye as he calmed down enough to glare at Eggsy again.

“No. You’ll be wanking in front of the group, I’m afraid.”  

Eggsy’s mouth twitched, but he held back his annoyance long enough to say, “It’s not that, Merlin, sir. I… don’ feel comfortable changin’ in front of everyone. It’s… it’s me wings. I keep ‘em tied, but I’d rather not flash ‘em to the whole group is all.”

  Merlin studied the lad for a moment.  

“Some sort of religious issue, Unwin?”  

“No, sir. Nothin’ like that.”

  “An injury, then? Because we don’t have flightless Kingsmen, Unwin. If you cannae fly, you’re out.”  

“No, sir, _please_ …” Eggsy bit off his plea and squared his jaw. “Never mind, sir. I’ll figure somethin’ out. Apologies fer botherin’ you with this.”  

Eggsy returned to the barracks, not catching the expression of sheer curiosity on Merlin’s face as he left. He did, however, find the looks of curiosity and contempt on the faces of his fellow candidates to be the exact sort of thing he had been trying to avoid.  

“What’s wrong, Eggy? Afraid to show off your dirty little wings to your betters?”

Eggsy drew in a calming breath and promised himself that at some point before training was done, he’d break Charlie Hesketh’s Pinnacle nose.  

“Nah. yer mum already knows what they look like and she seemed to like grabbin’ ‘em over an’ over again just fine.” He threw a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes to Charlie, who’s face turned a mottled sort of purple. Charlie’s silver wings shuddered in disgust, his inability to hide his emotions in his wings making Eggsy smirk a little more honestly.  

“As if any of us would willingly touch one of you. Fucking dodo Nadirs. Did they put you in here as a joke on the rest of us? Or are they just trying to accustom us to the stench of failure and shame before this all begins?”  

Eggsy felt Roxy’s hand on his arm, holding him back gently from the rising anger within him. Her rosy-brass wings shifted slightly behind her, as if she wanted to enfold him for comfort but was trying to restrain herself.

  “Enough.”

The candidates whipped their heads to the door, where Merlin’s icy voice was heard. The business end of ballpoint pen was thrust in their general direction, each point Merlin making causing another jab of the pen.  

“Whether you are here because of your connections, your education, your skill, or some other undefinable trait, I don't particularly know. I don’t particularly care. But what I can tell you is this: not a single one of you is here because of the color of you fucking wings. If you dinnae like it, keep it to yourself.”

With that, he made to leave the room.  

“But sir, honestly! You cannot expect us to compete with this!” The nasal voice of one of Charlie’s cronies sounded distraught at the very idea of having to share a planet with Eggsy, let alone a barracks room and training facility.

  Merlin paused at the doorway without looking back at the candidates behind him. To Eggsy, the intimately familiar sound of wing straps being unsnapped and the slight twitch in Merlin’s back were enough of a tell that when Merlin’s wings erupted through the tailored slits in his jumper, he didn’t jump back the way the others did.  

They were as white as the snow, pure and solid, and nearly as wide as the room itself at their full extension. 

Merlin turned his head to the side so that they could hear him.

“Now. If that’s all, you’d best get some sleep. Tomorrow isnae going to be fun. If anyone else would like to venture an opinion on wing colors and exactly how they feature into one’s worthiness, I’ll be up most of the night. Dismissed.”

  With that final pronouncement, Merlin swept from the room, his wings trailing haughtily behind him, not deigning to touch the floor.

“Bloody hell.” Eggsy looked at Roxy, who shook her head in agreement.

Soon, though, the incident was put to the back of everyone’s minds. Sleep beckoned, and with it came the chance Eggsy needed.

Eggsy waited until the others were asleep to unsnap his wing straps. He hissed a bit at the burn of unused muscle and stretched them out, shaking each feather that he could. Someone in the barracks shifted as if awake, and Eggsy pulled his wings in as tightly as he could to prevent them from being seen. Nothing happened for a full five minutes before he felt safe enough to relax them. He extended them as much as possible, and made up his mind. He stood quietly, and made his way to the door. It wasn’t locked, so he grabbed a slitted t-shirt and slipped it over his head. He tucked his wings back and out of the way and silently crept down the hallway outside the barracks room. He swept around corners and did his very best “stealth act” trying to find a way to an aerie.

  As he passed another door with no name plate, a small light blinked on to his left and Merlin’s scratchy brogue came through a tiny speaker underneath it.  

“Aerie’s four doors down to the left. Dinnae want to be up for longer than about an hour. Enough time to get your flight in.”  

Eggsy let out a shuddery breath.

  “Thanks, mate.”

  “Oh and Unwin?”  

“Yes Merlin, sir?”  

“You’ll need to deal with this some time. Cannae keep skulking about at night. You’ll be training _all_  of you, including your wings, lad.”  

“I… I understand sir. I… Thanks.” Eggsy felt like a chastised lad of 6 rather than his true age, but it didn’t stop him from nearly sprinting to the aerie. It was exactly where Merlin said it’d be and _it was enormous._   

Eggsy’d been in aeries before, both in school and during his gymnastics days. But this was easily double the size of the largest he’d ever seen. Hoops, rings, columns, vines, all manner of obstacles and traps were set up on one end, and the other seemed to simply bee open air for free flight. It was currently unoccupied, and Eggsy’s face split into an almost beatific grin as he hastily pulled off his t-shirt. He ran a couple of laps, and on the third, picked up speed. He took a running leap and _soared_.

  It felt like scratching an itch in the center of his back, or finally drinking water after days in the desert. Flight was home. Flight was safety.  

Eggsy had never been a showy flyer, preferring to simply move through the air as swiftly and easily as possible. Keeping his wings tied most of the time meant he hadn’t really practiced the same kind of stunt dives and soars that his fellow competitors might have, but it didn’t stop him from being fast. He’d never clocked himself properly, but he knew he could outfly the Met’s finest, so he figured he must be pretty quick.  

He always flew the same way each night. He’d start with strength building exercises he’d plucked from YouTube, taking anywhere from a half hour to a full hour to complete those. Then he’d see how fast, how high, or how stealthily he could fly. Occasionally, he’d do a combination of the three, and those were always the _best_ flights. Tonight, he chose to spend roughly 40 minutes on the strength exercises. Hovering, basic maneuvering that children learned, and an amalgamation of rehab and occupational therapy exercises comprised his routine, and when he was done he felt like dropping from the air. It burned his chest and back to work as hard as he was, and yet he knew he needed to push further. Since the ceiling of aerie prevented a height flight, he opted instead to practice the kind of quick banking and diving that urban cities trained flyers to know.

Each swift beat of his wings in the air felt like heaven. The fiery burn of his flight shuddered through his body, making him feel alive in ways that he only got when free-running. It came as a disappointment then, when a soft chime sounded throughout the aerie and Merlin’s voice rang through.

  “Time’s up, lad. Back to bed with you. And dinnae for one moment think you’re getting away with this again. I only let you do this now because I know better than most that sometimes you just have to stretch them. This is the exception, Unwin, not the rule. You understand me?”  

“Yes sir. Thank you fer this.”  

“On to bed with you.”  

Eggsy grinned to himself and picked up his t-shirt from the aerie’s mats where he’d dropped it earlier. Slinging it over his shoulder, he pattered back to the barracks and slipped inside. No one was awake and Eggsy, unthinking, simply slipped into bed without rebinding this wings. 

Not, of course, that it mattered much when one's bed was swiftly slipping under water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/Tags for Chapter One:
> 
> [mentions of prostitution, including what I'd consider to be underage (late teens, not child), domestic abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, mentions of child abuse, implied offscreen rape/non con, drug use]


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I done changed the rating, folks. Shit got spicy at the end because Eggsy is a little sass-monster who wouldn't leave my brain alone. A few warnings at the end for -ish things you might not like. 
> 
> Translations courtesy of Google Translate. Blame them, not me. Also, Translations at the bottom.
> 
> Edit 8/10: A billion thanks to rukimatsumoto for fixing up my German bits. Apparently Google Translate is not entirely hip with the times.
> 
> FYI - the cologne I mention is a very real one and it is rather expensive. It's not particularly flashy or "famous", so when I finally get around to referring to it by name in some later chapter, you should all go look it up and be jealous of how good it smells. I describe it for Eggsy based on how it smells to me when my husband wears it, so YMMV, but it's a nice one.

They were given three hours’ sleep after the flooding and subsequent dress-down, though almost none of them got the full duration. Amelia’s body was aided by medics, who shook their heads sadly and carried her away. The candidates returned to their bunks in a daze, orders to collect the wet sheets and ruined pillows and retrieve new ones from what was apparently a waterproof panel near the front of the room. Eggsy started stripping his bed, but paused about halfway through, finally noticing the lack of movement from the rest of the room. He turned, a slightly confused look on his face, and caught the gazes of his fellow candidates who appeared to simply be staring at him.

Or, more accurately, at his back. 

Eggsy straightened up fast enough that his wings flicked outward to dispel the movement.

“Gonna be chilly nigh if you don’ actually fix yer beds, lads.” He kept his tone light, despite the tightening of his jaw.

“What. The fuck. Are those?” Charlie’s voice was breathy with barely-controlled rage.

“Wings, innit? Or do they not teach you lot what wings are up in them ivory aeries?” Eggsy snarked.

“Despite the fact that you’re clearly some kind of cuckoo Nadir trash, I was talking about those,” Charlie seethed, pointing at the coppery tips of Eggsy’s wings.

“Nothin’ special. Just yer mum’s mate-feathers, is all. You’ll make a pretty good step-son, bruv.” Eggsy shot back, and Roxy let out an unladylike snort before covering her mouth and moving to her own soaked bed.

Charlie let loose a near-growl, but let his face go carefully blank before he smirked.

“Oh so you don’t mind that your mother was some kind of vicious slut, then? Must have been hard for your ‘dad’ to see his wife birth some other man’s freak.”

Eggsy stilled.

“You know fuck-all about me mum, and if ye feel like keepin’ yer fuckin’ wings attached to yer worthless body, you’ll shut your trap ‘ere and now.” The chill in Eggsy’s voice was unmistakeable. The other candidates took notice of the coiled tension in Eggsy’s arms, and the almost-perfect stillness of his wings and wisely moved to their own beds to begin stripping the wet bedding in near-silence.

Of course, Charlie kept pressing.

“Or what, you’ll assault me? Get kicked back to your filthy little nest for daring to strike your better? Please. All your kind are good for is-“

“Is what, Mr. Hesketh?” Merlin’s voice rang out across the intercom.

The candidates paused and looked towards the speakers.

“If I recall correctly, I already covered this particular issue with you all. And I believe I said that any further opinion on the matter was to be resolved directly with me. So, Mr. Hesketh, I suggest you report here posthaste for the continuation of this enlightening conversation.”

Charlie snarled and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Roxy caught Eggsy’s eyes sand said, “You know you’re going to have to either explain those, or you’ll have to be better than everyone. Otherwise they’ll never respect you.”

“Don’ really feel like the kind of respect they want to give, yeah?”

“Believe me, I know. There’s a reason there aren’t female Kingsmen here in the UK. The Old Guard doesn’t seem to think we’re capable.”

“Sounds like you know a fuckton about a ‘secret organization,’ Rox. You been doin’ yer readin’?” Eggsy grinned at her cheekily.

“Hardly. My family has had a Kingsman in every generation. It’s our worst-kept secret. Though, it made any holiday gathering entirely too exciting. Imagine my parents’ deep shame when their wretched little girl-child was the only nestling that had appeared so far in this generation.”

Roxy screwed up her face into a moue of haugty disgust, and when she spoke, it was with a horribly nasal accent that’s light years beyond her own Roedean-polished RP.

_“‘What exactly are we going do, George?! We cannot possibly send our little Roxanne with Percival! We must send for cousin Archie! He’ll do in a pinch, and besides, he’s a complete poufter; it’s not like anyone will miss him! No daughter of mine is going to associate with those… those brutes! Can you even imagine what Lord Smythe-Smith would say?!”_

She shot Eggsy a flat look.

“Apparently I’m supposed to be sleeping my way through Cambridge’s rowers and riders in search of an earldom for my sons instead of beating them all into the dust for the chance to do something that matters.” Her eyes grow large and sarcasm drips from her words as she finishes with a half-smirk.

“Dunno, Rox. You could probably ride a few of them after you earn the earldom by beatin’ it out of their bloody fingertips,” Eggsy said, drolly.

A cackling laugh was all the reply Roxy gave.

 

***

 

The near-full complement of Kingsman agents in town (and a fair number of techs, secretaries, mechanics, and the like) was present behind Merlin on the front porch before lunch time. Arthur, it seemed, had better things to do than watch the recruits make fools of themselves. The candidates, having changed into their personalized siren suits, stood at parade rest facing the assembly. Eggsy’s wings were strapped once more, despite the slits in the backs of the suits allowing the others to wear theirs loose. Roxy’s wings were almost the color of a soft rosé wine Eggsy had once nicked from a girl at a club, half golden champagne and half sweet pink. The other candidates had their wings free and flickering in annoyance and nervousness at the sight in front go them, their physical discipline in tatters, though each held his tongue.

“As some of you will have learned last night, teamwork is paramount here at Kingsman. We are here to enhance your skills, test you to the limits. Which is why you're gonna pick a puppy. Wherever you go, your dog goes. You will care for it, you will teach it. And by the time they are fully trained, so will you be. Those of you who are still here, that is. Do you understand?”

Digby raised his hand.

“Digby,” barked Merlin in acknowledgement.

“What puppies, sir?”

Merlin’s face in that moment could only be described as ruthless. He raised the ever-present ballpoint pen, and pointed up.

The rumble of a small-engine plane could be heard across the grounds, and at Merlin’s motion, the assembly behind him moved forward to the railings and started peering up into the sky.

The candidates looked to the sky, and saw a smallish craft fly over their heads several thousand feet high.

“What in the world…?” Eggsy heard Roxy mutter to his right, and he found himself  thinking much the same thing as smallish specks appeared in the sky out of the tail of the plane.

“I’d get in the air, there’s a good lad. They won’t be puppies for long if you cannae catch them fast enough.” Merlin’s dark voice barely cut through the candidates’ confusion, but when it did, they all began reacting in their own way.

Most of the cohort started to run, beating their wings swiftly to take off with a quick ascent. Roxy waited long enough to see the others take flight before she turned to an equally as nonreactive Eggsy.

“Give us lift then?”

Eggsy shot her a gleeful look and assumed a familiar position from his gymnastics days. He bent his knees and widened his stance, and braced his hands together as a small platform. Roxy used this to step onto, and looked down at Eggsy.

“Three count?”

“Go on then.”

Roxy counted down, and with each number, Eggsy bobbed a bit, working into a powerful toss upwards when Roxy hit “one!”

He launched her as hard as he could straight into the air, and her wings snapped outwards and caught the current. She soared up towards the rapidly growing specks.

Eggsy remained grounded, watching the specks.

He wore what Merlin could only describe as a “suspicious” look upon his face, and to Merlin’s inner delight, he could see the moment when it clicked in Eggsy’s brain. None of the others had noticed (or at least, had not reacted to it) but there were two specks more than there were recruits among the cohort. Eggsy’s face snapped to the assembled Kingsmen employees, but most had their eyes upon the sky. Only Merlin and Harry were watching him instead of the falling puppy crates. Merlin’s face was impassive, but Harry’s looked… _inquisitive._ It made sense to Eggsy; Harry had never seen his wings, and despite whatever Merlin might have told him, seeing them in person was more of an event.

“Up you get now, Unwin. The others are going to have their pick and you’ll be left with the runt.” Merlin’s dry brogue cut into the morning air.

Eggsy reached between the buttons of his siren suit and unsnapped the straps that held his wings in. he shrugged his shoulders to align his wings with the slits in his siren suit, but did not yet push them through. He swept his eyes over the building, mentally taking in the footholds and handholds he could use to climb it, and took off at a sprint towards the likes column. This caught the attention of several more members of the assembled staff, and they watched as Eggsy climbed the facade of the mansion to the second story balcony, vaulted himself on top of the cement railing, and _leapt._

Eggsy could hear the gasps as he snapped his wings to their fullest extension and swept sharply down. He banked quickly and glided scant few inches from the top of Merlin’s head, and beat an incredibly powerful buffet at the watchers, fluffing hair and flicking ties and scarves out of place as he began to climb higher. He shot as high as he could as swiftly as he could and caught up with the rest of the now dodging and weaving cohort in very short order.

Four of the eight had already wrestled a chosen crate into their arms, though the yelps and barks from within, coupled with the disparate weights of the dogs made their descent difficult. Eggsy watched as Hugo nearly dropped his crate, only to catch it by jamming his fingers in between the wire edges. The wince of pain on Hugo’s face told Eggsy that even if the poor sod’s fingers weren’t broken, they’d likely be bruised.

He watched Roxy grab a crate, look inside, and discard it as gently as possible given the circumstances. She grabbed another, and satisfied, began circling downwards to the land rising up beneath them. Eggsy reached out for the cage that Roxy had discarded, only to be slapped unexpectedly in the face by Charlie’s over-taxed wings. Charlie then grabbed the cage from near Eggsy’s grasp and dive downwards with it. It became clear when Eggsy had regained his equilibrium that he was the last in the air, and there were three crates left.

Eggsy pulled up short, flapping his wings enough to hover. Thinking on his feet, he ripped open the buttons on his siren suit, sending them flinging into the air. He grabbed the neck of his undershirt and ripped as hard as he could. This jerked his wings enough to stutter in his hovering, and he took a precious few seconds to right himself. He grabbed the two torn halves of his undershirt and dove after the crates, his open siren suit flapping uncomfortable against his skin.

He caught the first crate within seconds of his dive. Grabbing it to his chest, he looped one half of his tattered shirt through the bars, and swiftly knotted it, his wings beating erratically to keep him aloft. Slinging the makeshift strap over one shoulder, he dove again towards the next crate.

He could make out shouts and cries over the wind in his ears, but whatever was being said was too distorted. He tuned them out and caught up to the second crate. The dog inside this one was much larger than the one he had caught previously. Eggsy dithered a moment, and let the cage go. He banked left and started spiraling to find the third crate.

He spotted it far beneath him, falling dangerously fast. He pulled his arms in, tucked his chin to his chest, and pointed his wings back, turning his body into a missile.

He slammed into the third crate painfully, but made short work of threading the other half of his torn shirt through the cage bars and into a knotted strap. His throat closed, however, when he saw how close the mansion was. He grimaced, looked upwards, and twisted painfully. He stretched his wings in both a braking and lifting motion, the pain of the maneuver almost blinding him. But he climbed. It was a slow ascent, more brute power than finesse. He didn’t have to go far before the third cage slammed sharply into his ribs, knocking him back towards the earth.

He wrapped his arms around the box, slicing open his forearm against the lock, and turned, trying to get his body righted. He strained his wings as far out as they would extend, and beat them so hard he could feel the strain in every fiber of his being. The ground came at him faster than he would have liked, and Eggsy could hear much more clearly the shouts from the ground beneath him.

It was a cacophony of worried cries and ecstatic cheering.

He finally got some relief from the strain when he felt his wings catch on a soft breeze, and he was able to arc out of the fall he’d been in. Circling downwards, he landed hard, the dogs in the cages under either arm barking like mad, and the one in the cage he was holding to his chest howling. He dropped to his knees, let go of his grasp on the crates and collapsed backwards, trying to stop the hyperventilation that always accompanied a rough descent.

Eggsy felt hands sit him up, and he glared balefully at Merlin, whose face had come into his view. the man crouched down in front of Eggsy, the ever present clipboard clutched in his hand.

“You all right, lad? Anything broken?”

Eggsy looked shellshocked, and the silence that followed Merlin’s question was worrisome to the rest of the group. Both candidates and Kingsmen were quiet, watching with everything from worry to excitement as Eggsy slowly looked at them.

“That one.” Eggsy jutted his chin out at Charlie’s crate.

“What?” Merlin rocked back on his heels, clearly not expecting Eggsy to answer thusly.

“You said we could pick our puppies, not that we’d be stuck with the one we caught. I caught more’n anybody else, and seriously, bruv? That’s a bit of a fucked thing to do, innit? So I want that one.” Eggsy returned his gaze to Merlin.

A peal of laughter, quickly stifled, came from among the assembled agents and staff. Merlin’s head snapped to his right and the glare he was sending the various gawkers could have frozen a flame solid.

He looked back at Eggsy, and nodded.

“Aye lad, that I did. Fine. Because you caught on that there were more than we had flyers, you can pick yours. The rest of you-“ his voice raised to a shout at this. “The rest of you are stuck with your catch. Charlie, pick one from the crates Unwin grabbed.”

He turned back to Eggsy and searched the young man’s face for a moment before he sat back and stood up.

“Right. 10 points to Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw for Unwin and Morton’s teamwork early on. The rest of you lot need to start thinking as a unit, not with your unit. Fall out, and get your dogs sorted. Unwin, I’d start combing the field for your missing buttons. Otherwise you get to explain to Pellinore that you wrecked his handiwork the first day of training.”

Merlin sent Eggsy a wicked smile and motioned to the vast field behind him.

“It’ll be hard to search by nightfall, so I’d get moving.”

Eggsy stared back at Merlin, and flopped backwards onto the ground groaning.

“Fuck me.” Eggsy paused, and then shouted at a much larger volume: “And why the _fuck_ am I a Hufflepuff?!”

Merlin’s dark cackle was all the response he got.

Slowly, the voices and various dog noises quieted, and Eggsy sat back up. Roxy stood there with a small black puffball, and a smirk on her face. The crate with Eggsy’s chosen dog sat next to her.

“Might want to let the little guy out slowly. I don’t think you’ve got a leash on hand.”

Eggsy stood, brushed off the grass and leaves from his siren suit, and came over to the crate. He crouched down and peered inside.

“‘Ey there, little man! I’m yer papa now, so don’ get any ideas ‘bout chewin’ my shoes, yeah? You’n me, we’re gonna be alright.”

He unlocked the cage and drew the little pup out.

“Gonna call you JB, yes I am. There’s my good boy.” Eggsy made sickeningly domestic kiss faces at the little dog, and turned his smile to Roxy.

“Best little bulldog in the country, yeah?” As he spoke, he made a show of “waving” JB’s little paw at Roxy. He affected a small voice and said, “‘Ello Miss Rox! My name’s JB! I’m gonna be the best dog and me’n Eggsy are gonna be best bruvs!”

Roxy looked perplexed for a moment and pursed her lips, clearly trying not to smile.

“A pug, Eggsy? Didn’t think you’d go for that.”

Eggsy stopped and shot her a confused look.

“‘E’s still a a bulldog, innit?”

“Ah, no.” Her reply was clipped, but amused.

“But ‘e’ll get bigger though, won’ ‘e?”

Roxy opened her mouth to reply but just shook her head ‘no.’

 

_“Shit.”_

 

***

 

The days passed in a blur of pain, sweat, and dog slobber. JB wasn’t particularly forthcoming in his training, but Eggsy didn’t give up. He figured that if he didn’t make it, having a trained dog couldn’t hurt when he inevitably had to return to the flat. At the very least, he had thought more than once, it’d be nice to be able to tell JB to run away from Dean, and have the little pup listen.

He’d taken to keeping his wings tied for most of their training exercises. The other candidates used their wings as much as possible, twisting their bodies mid air or flying across a course rather than running it. Eggsy had learned early in life that he’d need to learn alternatives to flight, and coupled with his prodigious free-running skills, he still managed to out-class most of his cohort at all but flight-only physical exertions. He was a good shot, and though he was rusty, he knew his skills would return to what they had been while he was in training with the Marines.

His classroom skills, however, were something else altogether. While Eggsy had done remarkably well in primary school, he had consistently let his grades drop through secondary. He hadn’t bothered taking A-levels, deciding that there wasn’t much point in wasting the time on more schooling when what would earn him the most money wasn’t anything he could learn in a classroom setting. Roxy was almost beside herself with frustration when Eggsy would make basic errors (or, at least, basic to her and the other well-educated students) and he rarely seemed inclined to study with her or any of the others during the appointed times.

“Ain’t gonna make a bit of difference whether I know what king signed the Magna Carta or not. S’not somethin’ I ever needed to know before this, won’ likely be somethin’ I need after this neither.” This, or some variant thereof, what the usual response Eggsy gave, and he almost always coupled it with a salacious wink or a clicked tongue.

Despite this lackadaisical attitude to the dryer, educated aspects of training, Eggsy excelled at the “other” forms of study in the classroom; he had no need for the lock picking classes given, and spent most of them rifling through the box of old and broken lock picks provided for the students to learn with filing, adulterating, and repairing them. His hot-wiring and driving skills were beyond compare, with even Lamorak, the ancient bastard in charge of the automobile fleet stiffly praising his skills. He was well-aware that the “shadier” aspects of his training were ones that he could likely either teach himself or give pointers on; after giving a bit of unsolicited advice on whatever module in thievery and reconnaissance they were working on, he was pleasantly surprised to be consulted several times by the various instructors on whether there was a better or stealthier way to go about breaking the law.

Roxy had expressed an interest in free-running, so Eggsy told the cohort one night that he’d be giving some basic lessons in that the next morning. To his utter surprise, not only had Roxy come, but so had Hugo and two of the other recruits, Ned and Peter. Neither seemed particularly happy to have Eggsy teaching them, but he managed to shove his general dislike for them down and made good on his promise. Several mornings of their open PT were dedicated to this unusual skill, and though Eggsy figured Ned and Peter wouldn’t be able to do much more than basic stuff given their propensity to catch themselves with their wings when they fell, Roxy and Hugo showed promise.

Neither, however, seemed inclined to take on some of the more daring jumps and routes that Eggsy himself would take to keep his skills sharp, but to them, he was the odd man out for not using his wings nearly as much as the rest of the world. Roxy even commented upon it one night as they were folding laundry in the lounge area of the barracks room, their duty rotation this week having been the cohort’s communal washing and drying.

“You know we’ve all seen them. You don’t have to keep them hidden away all the time, you know that?”

Eggsy studied her for a moment before he replied.

“I know. Just got used to it, is all. Never been allowed to let ‘em loose before this, ‘ave I? Mum and dad kept ‘em bound when I were a kid, and it wasn’ ever gonna be okay to show anyone else.”

“Eggsy… Can I…” Roxy looked awkwardly pained at him, and flicked her eyes to where his wings would be resting were they unbound.

Eggsy sighed and made a show of rolling his eyes at her, which earned him a soft smack across the arm. He spoke, his voice pitched low and soft, but without rancor or weakness.

“Just born with ‘em like this. Mum and dad got one of them DNA tests when I was a kid. Dad believed ‘er that she ‘adn’t been steppin’ out on ‘im, but it were easier to ‘ave some official paperwork backin’ that up fer the schools an’ doctors an’ such. I’m me mum and dad’s, 100 percent, but I just got stuck with the toff-wings, is all.”

Eggsy drew in a deep breath and looked Roxy square in the eye. He continued, voice just as strong and soft as before.

“An’ I’d appreciate it if you don’ go on tellin’ anyone else that, either. Can’t say I’m dead chuffed ‘bout everyone thinkin’ me mum was some kind of slag, ‘specially since a lot of these older agents knew me dad, but I’d also rather not end up at the bottom of a well or somethin’ for darin’ to have the wrong wings, yeah?”

Roxy nodded and said, “Of course, Eggsy. It’s not entirely unheard of for people to be born with wings outside their flock, but I do understand what you’re saying. I won’t tell anyone.”

She pursed her lips and gave Eggsy a pointed look.

“So… what about your mate?”

Eggsy sighed again, and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Don’ rightly know. Always had primaries that color, long as I can remember. Mum never said anything about them, though that’s not anythin’ new. ‘Spose I just met my mate at some point and they didn’ want me. Maybe I never even realized. I dunno.”

“It’s not like that Eggsy. You have to be in physical contact with your mate for the change to take place. God, this sounds so snobbish, but don’t they teach you this sort of thing in school among the Nadir-flock?”

Roxy sounded genuinely curious, so Eggsy brushed the minor insult off.

“Nah, they just kind of let our parents explain things. And mum wasn’ exactly in any kind of shape to ‘ave a ‘ _serious and frank talk about mates, bonds, and nestlings._ ’” Eggsy’s voice took on a copy of Harry’s high-brow accent at the end, making Roxy crack a smile.

“Right. Well, sit down.”

Eggsy sat and pulled over another basket of laundry to fold.

“Okay. So, the way it works, usually, is that you either find your mate on purpose or you find them on accident. Most people in Ascent, and I assume Nadir, find them on accident, either a casual touch on the train, or brushing up against someone in a queue, you know? But for Pinnacles, it’s… easier, I suppose? There aren’t as many of us as there are the other flocks, so we have more of an opportunity to ‘meet up’ in a closed or controlled setting.”

Roxy paused for a moment to collect her thoughts.

“When I turned 15, we had a party. My parents invited their friends, of course, but they also invited a huge number of Pinnacle-flock kids around my age. I wasn’t entirely sure why they’d been invited, but I figured it out pretty quickly. In days long since passed on, Pinnacle-flock would have these twice-yearly gatherings in villages and cities. You’d line up in two straight lines, one facing one direction and the other line facing the other direction. Then, the lines would pass by each other, like two sports teams giving post-match hand slaps. Except you’d stretch out your wing and brush it up against the other lines’ outstretched hands. Then, they’d do the same to you. According to my mother it felt like the worst kind of illness you could imagine, but it was over with rather quickly. If you didn’t match up at your home gathering, you went to another town, and another and so on until you met them.”

Roxy folded a shirt as she spoke, and set it down to draw in a shaky breath.

“What they evolved into were these _parties_. You’d be the center of attention like at any other birthday party of yours, and then your peers would start touching you. It was vile. I had been standing near my uncle and we’d just been talking about school and life, that sort of thing. I felt someone move behind me, but I thought maybe they were just going to the drink table or something. Then it was like I’d thrown up, but nothing came out. I felt a hand ruffling my right wing, and for three seconds it was the worst thing I have ever felt, Kingsman training included. I gasped and pitched forward to get away from it, and Uncle Alastair caught me, but there was this look in his eyes. Like pity, maybe, and sadness. His own mate had been an accidental meeting early in life, so he never had to put up with this sort of nonsense. But it didn’t matter. When I’d composed myself a few moments later, it happened again. And again, and again. Every single unmated person invited to the party, including a couple of my parents’ friends who were old enough to be my parents, brushed my wings on purpose.”

Eggsy, who's hands had stopped folding laundry much earlier in the story, noticed the silence that had befallen the barracks. A quick look around showed him something he’d not ever expected to see. The other candidates were watching Roxy, clearly listening to her, but every single one of them had a look of pure and genuine sympathy on their face.

“I lucked out,” Roxy continued. “Uncle Alastair dragged me out of the room once this ordeal was done and promised me I’d never have to do it again. I figured he was lying, since I clearly hadn’t met my mate that night, but he was right. Whatever he did or said to my parents, I never had to go through with that kind of thing again. And I never had to attend anyone else’s either.”

“Had one at 16, and then at 17, myself.” Charlie’s voice rang out across the room, oddly devoid of any superiority or affected sneer. “When I turned 18 I told my parents to fuck off and went out and got pissed with my mates. Left for Cambridge the next day. I only ever saw one match get made during mine or anyone else’s parties, anyway. Waste of bloody time.”

Hugo chimed in, “For all that your flock is… disadvantaged, Unwin, you’ve got to admit. Even our way of doing things is a bit barbaric too.”

Eggsy nodded quietly, considering what he had heard. Roxy continued.

“So you see, that’s how it works for Pinnacles. But what it boils down to, is that you touch your mate’s wings. The touch doesn’t even need to be reciprocal. Just one touch to your mate’s wings, and you’ve got their colors on you forever. Also, and this is just what I’ve heard and read, there’s this feeling of belonging. I’m not sure how to describe it honestly. It’s supposed to be like a feeling of calm, or peace, or-“

“ _Fire_ ,” Eggsy found himself saying rather serenely without realizing it.

“Huh. So it felt like fire?” Roxy looked at Eggsy with a curious gleam in her eyes.

Eggsy shook his head, the memory of _fire-heat-right-claimed-sunlight-love_ infusion his mind like ink slowly drifting through water.

The others in the room were blatantly ignoring whatever their tasks were in favor of listening in to the conversation, though neither Eggsy nor Roxy seemed inclined to stop them. Bonds were all-encompassing, no different for any of the three flocks. To discuss them might be gauche in the upper flocks, but it was no less important to the Nadirs than it was to the Ascents or the Pinnacles. And since not a single other candidate had mate-feathers, it was clear they were all waiting for Eggsy to elaborate.

“I don’ really remember much. I figure I must ‘ave been a little one, you know? My memory from before me dad was killed is too sketchy and it’s all the memories of a little nestlin’. So it’s mostly mum and dad, and toys or cartoons or whatever. But I think it were near when dad was killed. I remember it bein’ cold outside, fer some reason. Not sure when it ‘appened. I just remember this feelin’ like bein’ outside without a coat and then walkin’ in to a too-warm ‘ouse. That kind of flash of ‘eat across yer skin in summertime when the sun really strikes you, or when you turn up the shower too ‘igh. And it felt good. It like, seeped into me bones, you know? Kind of felt like when you drink ‘eated up soup and you can feel it warm up yer insides too. Can’t really make it make sense fer you lot, but it felt like all me birthdays and Christmases ‘ad come at once, the joy from it.”

Eggsy smiled softly as he remembered the feeling, but struggled a bit to place anything else outside of the emotional recollection.

“Don’ really remember whether it was day or night, or whether I were at ‘ome or out somewhere. Don’ really need to, I guess. Whoever ‘e was, didn’t stick around, yeah? ‘Specially if like you said was true, and they felt it too. Can’t blame ‘em, I suppose.”

Eggsy shrugged in on himself, the vulnerability showing through his bravado.

Roxy watched him for a bit, and then something Eggsy had said struck her.

“‘He?’ You’re sure whomever it was was male?”

“Yeah. I don’ recall too much else, but I remember the scent of ‘is cologne. Spicy, like an ethnic market might smell, and smoke, like a campfire. Bit of bergamot, you know tea-like, and somethin’ else. Can’t place what the last bit is, though. Never smelled it again.”

“Would you know it again if you smelled it? The cologne, I mean.”

“Yeah, course. Might not be able to remember ‘is face, but the smell’s stuck in me brain forever.”

“Well, maybe we can get you to a parfumerie, once training is done. See if it’s some sort of rare scent or something.” Roxy raised an eyebrow at him in challenge, a small smile crossing her lips.

Eggsy chuckled a bit, and nodded.

“Oh yeah, me in my trackies and snapback and you in yer riding pants and whatever boots you was wearin' the first day. They’d think you was rentin’ me by the ‘our.”

“And what exactly is your going rate these days, Eggy?” There was the Charlie Eggsy knew and loathed.

“Too expensive fer you, mate,” Eggsy said, then affected Harry’s posh accent again. “Only a true gentleman could afford me, I’m afraid. And this fine gentlelady, of course.”

He grasped Roxy’s hand lightly and kissed the back of it like he’d seen in the movies, brushing his lips over the skin of her knuckles.

Roxy rolled her eyes and threw a pair of someone’s underwear at him.

 

***

 

Eggsy didn’t see Harry much during the first few weeks of training. First, he thought it was because their sponsors were supposed to keep their distance. Then, after he saw several other candidates meet up and train with their sponsors when they came in to town, he figured it must be because Harry was on a mission. Either way, it meant Eggsy spent his training with instructors rather than his sponsor, and thus wasn’t beholden to Harry’s schedule.

So it wasn’t an issue for Eggsy to report to sick call mid morning one day, rather than take time to spar with his absent mentor.

The cohort had been practicing hand-to-hand take downs with Percival, Bors, and Ector, and Eggsy was watching Roxy flip Percival on his back with what he thought was more force than necessary. She seemed to be aware of this, and was relishing in the solid “oof!” she got Percival to utter every time she slammed his back on to the soft mat. Her smirk grew wider with each consecutive toss, despite Percival not fighting back.

With a final (and completely called for, if one were to ask Eggsy) maneuver, however, Percival ended the bout by deflecting Roxy’s final combination, and performing a swift twist that sent her face-first into the ground.

Eggsy couldn’t help the laugh that broke from his mouth, and given the grins on the others’ faces, he wasn’t the only one enjoying her downfall at the hands of the more skilled agent.

Percival released Roxy and reached a hand out to help her up, easily blocking the feet sweep that she tried on him. Eggsy watched him lean in and cover a few things with her privately before dismissing her from the mat.

“Unwin. You’re up next. Come on up here.” Percival’s voice was even and almost kind, something Eggsy liked about the older man. He was utterly unflappable, as far as Eggsy could tell, even despite the white flecked titanium mate-feathers he wore that signified a lost mate.

Eggsy stepped up and toed off his Kingsman-issued track shoes, and took a moment to pull off the socks that covered his feet as well. He nodded to percival and took his appointed place on the mat. There were no instructions given to him at this point; the candidates had all been briefed prior to the bouts. So Eggsy was at least somewhat prepared when Percival motioned for Eggsy to being the take-downs.

Eggsy stepped up, moved fluidly into the first maneuver, and stumbled to his knees as a crack of pain flashed through his head. It felt like lightning had struck him directly in the temple and he grasped his head in his hands and moaned brokenly. Distantly, he could hear gasps from the others, but the pain was almost unbearable.

“Hold on Unwin. We’re gonna get you to sick bay. But I need you to answer me if you’re capable.”

Percival’s even voice cut through some of the pain. He screwed his eyes shut, blocking out the too-bright light of the gymnasium, and nodded.

And promptly dry-heaved at the swimming feeling in his head at the motion of the nod.

He felt a broad hand grab at one of his own, and Percival’s voice rang out again.

“Alright. Tap my hand once for yes, twice for no. If I don’t feel a tap, I’m assuming you’re unconscious.”

Eggsy tapped his thumb against the hand on his own once.

“Right. Can you see?”

Eggsy cracked his eyes, and could see Percival’s own meeting his with concern. He tapped again once.

“Do you know what happened?”

He tapped twice against the hand.

“Right. Do you think you can walk?”

A single tap, this time.

“Was it a bursting or popping sensation?”

Two taps.

“A muscular clench?”

Two taps, and there was a significant pause from above him.

“Was… was it a bit like getting pistol-whipped? Or like someone touched you with a live wire?”

“Yessssss…” Eggsy hissed his answer instead of tapping.

Percival’s response was a shuddering sigh.

Eggsy felt himself get lifted up and though the pain remained, he was able to tell that whomever was carrying him was moving. He cracked his eyes again and saw the lights on the ceiling moving above him as he was carried, the twists and turns making Eggsy feel nauseous. His wings felt lax in their straps, no flutter or twitch to belie his pain.

It occurred to him, somewhat laughably, that he could black out and save himself the embarrassment of being the first recruit sent to the medics for anything more than a skinned knee or an ice pack, but he dismissed the thought as the tell-tale sounds of a hospital ward drifted up around him. Though he felt lucid enough, he could only really make out Percival’s voice over the still-electric feeling in his head. He didn’t register much beyond the feeling of being deposited on a soft surface.

“… it’s a mate-flash. Whoever his mate is, he or she’s been injured…”

Eggsy felt a pricking at his elbow, and the cool feeling of some sort of painkiller let him shudder into a medicated sleep.

When he awoke, Eggsy felt fine. His head didn’t hurt; he felt rested. Noticing a call button at his hands, he pressed it and swung his legs out of bed. He was still dressed in his workout gear, and it felt slightly damp, so Eggsy knew he hadn’t been out for very long.

A nurse bustled in, Merlin on her heels. As she began poking and prodding at Eggsy and the machines near him, Merlin looked quizzically at Eggsy.

“So. Do you know what happened?”

Eggsy shook his head, glad that there was no accompanying nausea.

“Not really, bruv- er, sir.”

“You had what’s generally referred to as a ‘bond-referred episode.’ In layman’s terms, it means something happened to your mate, and you caught some of the blowback through the bond between you. It’s almost always an electrical feeling a bit like a migraine. It’s rarely so strong without the bonded pair being in close contact with the other, though. Have you had anything like it before?”

Eggsy racked his memories for anything similar, but came up empty.

“Nah. I mean, I’ve been sick, yeah? ‘Ad me a couple migraines ‘ere and there, but nothing like that. Though, an’ I’m bein’ completely ‘onest with you, there were a fair few years where I weren’ all there, strictly speakin’. Not a lot else to do ‘round the estate besides get pissed, and given the number of thrashin’s I’ve ‘ad, painkillers was kind of an ever-present thing, yeah? Nothin’ stronger than paracetemol, but it were pretty much  daily thing, you know?”

Eggsy rubbed the back of his neck meekly, looking ruefully up at Merlin.

“I’m not worried about what you used to do lad, apart from you pickling your liver with paracetamol, assuming you’ve been sober for this?

Merlin made it a question, raising an eyebrow.

Eggsy shook his head emphatically and answered, “Oh yeah. Had a couple aspirins for muscle soreness, but I ain’t touched nothin’ stronger than that and cup of coffee at breakfast. Well, an’ whatever they gave me today, I guess. Quit gettin’ pissed off my arse a couple years back. Figured I’d rather be sober and miserable with some cash than drunk and broke and miserable.”

“Fair enough. Can you feel anything from the bond?”

“Not that I know of, sir. Don’ know if I even know ‘ow to check that sort of thing. You ‘spose I felt it ‘cause me mate and I met again, or somethin’?”

Merlin considered this for a moment.

“It’s a possibility, lad. Though I’m not sure how you’d have met again given the last few weeks.”

Eggsy pulled a face.

“You guys got them “cyanide capsules” like what James Bond ‘as?”

“Why?” came Merlin’s flat response.

“‘Cause if me mate’s Charlie, then I’m fuckin’ over it, yeah?” Eggsy chuckled a bit and looked at Merlin with a grin that could only be described as “sassy.”

“Oh, I think it could be worse, Unwin. Your mate could be me.” Merlin barely kept his eyes from rolling at the look of panic that crossed Eggsy’s face.

Eggsy blinked, and his jaw dropped a bit. He managed to respond with a strangled, “what?!”

Merlin looked at him over his clipboard, a deceptively neutral look on his face, though his eyes held teasing mischief.

“Er… what?”

“Eloquent as ever, Unwin. As it is, I’m not yours, and thank God for that. Now, I need to check on Galahad, so if you’ve any further questions, don’t ask them.”

“Wait. ‘Arry’s been ‘urt?”

“Galahad’s been injured and is in a coma at the moment. I’ve got a meeting with Arthur about the situation in just a moment, but I wanted to let you know not to expect any training with him for the meantime.”

Eggsy blinked again, jaw firmly set to “open and dumb.”

“What, did you think I was here for you, Unwin?” Merlin sounded positively evil as he spoke to Eggsy.

“Uh… yes?”

Merlin scoffed and flicked something on his clipboard.

“Hardly. I dinnae start giving a damn about you lot until you’ve got codenames, and that’s only if you bring me presents. Now, I’ve got to leave, but if you feel up to it, you can come in and see for yourself that he’s alright. Just, you know, in a coma. That’ll be all, Unwin.”

Eggsy nodded dumbly, still reeling from the news. He’d been told that the scuttlebutt amongst the Kingsmen was that Galahad was their best. He knew Harry was skilled; no one in a spy movie was over 50, so Eggsy figured that the same applied to real-life spies. By his reckoning, that either made Harry some kind of superhero, or more likely, incredibly talented.

“Oh! Merlin!” Eggsy called, almost on autopilot.

“Yes, lad?”

“It’s ‘Eggsy,’ yeah? Plan to be ‘ere long enough, don’ I? Might as well get you to call me by me name. ‘Sides. You might be me mate an’ all. Better to know what name you need to scream, yeah?” Eggsy waggled his eyebrows comedically at the older man.

Merlin chortled darkly.

“Aye, lad. ’Eggsy’ it is, then,” Merlin said.

Merlin turned from Eggsy and entered the room. Before the door shut with a soft snick, Eggsy could see an older man in a suit standing at the foot of a hospital bed.

‘Must be Arthur,’ he thought lamely. Though he couldn’t see more than the blanket-clad feet of the person in the bed, Eggsy knew it was Harry. It made his stomach churn a bit to think of someone who could be categorically described as a “force of nature” could be reduced to what lay upon the bed.

Eggsy nodded absently to himself a few times, determinedly not thinking about whatever was roiling in his stomach emotionally, and opened the door to Harry’s room softly.

 

***

 

Training was grueling in a way Eggsy had not experienced. The Royal Marines were tough, yes, but this… this was something else entirely.

Days bled together, nights were almost dreamless for the exhaustion the recruits felt. The shift of the seasons seemed barely noticeable, and before long, Eggsy realized it had been six months since training began and four since Harry had been hurt. The cohort was down to seven candidates, and the leaves had turned a solid brown. The wind was cold, and nighttime exercises or flights were bitterly chilling.

Merlin had called them in earlier in the day, a nearly malicious smirk on his face and a pile of lumpy, filled duffel bags at his feet.

“This is one of our newest tests. We like to call it ‘Hunger Games.’ This pile will be on the large ‘K’ outside at exactly zero-hundred hours tonight. You will proceed from here to that location, and collect a bag. You will use whatever is in the bag to survive the next 120 hours. There may or may not be specific instructions for you within your chosen bag. If there are, you will complete them before the deadline. Feel free to collect other things to add to your bag from wherever you might find them, save for here within the mansion or headquarters below ground. You may also beg, borrow, steal, or claim whatever you like from your fellow recruits’ bags, though they may defend it as necessary. Once your 120 hours in the field are up, you’ll be required to return here with an item from your bag that is clearly marked.

"As far as this mission is concerned, you are all agents of different countries and loyalties. Your objective is to return with your target item or items intact. If you dinnae return within the 120 hours, you’ll be disqualified. Kill another recruit, and you’re disqualified; this isn’t a Bond film, so no ‘licenses to kill,’ please. Cause the willful injury of another recruit and you’d best be prepared to explain your actions. If you cannae hack it, you’ll be given an obvious key fob to put on your belt at the beginning. Press the button and we’ll come collect your sorry arse from wherever you’ve decided to hole up. However, know that if you do so without a damned good reason, you’ll be going home. This key fob is the only item that is off limits to other recruits. Strip each other bare, I dinnae care. But that remains on each person.

“Be ready to move out at 24:30. You will each dress in your tactical uniform, and there will be an inspection for contraband and unsolicited items. Rest up. You’re going to need it. Dismissed.”

The recruits filed out the room they had been assembled in, and they were left to their own devices. The report time was only a few short hours off, and each had a different thought about personal preparation. As far as Eggsy could tell, Charlie, Digby, Rufus, and Hugo all returned to the barracks to get some sleep, Peter went to the mess to get an extra meal in, and Roxy simply vanished.

Eggsy himself spent some time with JB working on commands, and dropped by Harry’s medical bay, like he had done nearly daily thus far, to discuss the day with the still-comatose man.

“So like, they’re wantin’ us to do somethin’ called ‘Hunger Games,’ like them fuckin’ books from a few years back. Not sure what all they want from us out of it, but I figure it’s a survival trainin’ set up, yeah? Went through somethin’ similar back in the Marines, but we ‘ad a pack we was supposed to ‘ump around fuckin’ Scotland fer two weeks. This seems like combination of that and, I dunno, _Call of_ fuckin’ _Duty_.”

He smiled down at Harry.

“Bet you don’ even know what the fuck I’m talkin’ ‘bout, yeah? Don’ exactly strike me as the gentlemanly thing to do, video games. Bet you’d be fuckin’ good at it, though. When you wake up, I’ll get ‘em to bring in a fuckin’ Xbox or somethin’ and we’ll ‘ave us a match, yeah?”

Eggsy’s watch beeped, informing him that he had an hour’s time before he needed to report.

“Got an ‘our to kill, Galahad. What can we get up to in an ‘our, I wonder?” Eggsy didn’t expect a reply, and he didn’t receive one.

But he did head to the small cabinet near the sink and removed a dusty pink tub that contained several well-used and now-familiar shaving items. He went through the preparations of inspecting and changing the blade on Harry’s chrome safety razor, whisked the silver tip badger brush under warm water, and prepared three basins: one of soap, one of warm water, and one of warm water that opened a small bottle into. He poured in several drops of Harry’s face oil and stirred it around with one of the tongue depressors that were ubiquitous in hospital rooms and doctor’s offices. He set all of these into the small pink tub and brought it carefully to the tray stand near Harry’s bed.

Preparing Harry for a shave was calming; the motions were repetitive and almost zen in their gentleness. He’d taken over this particularly duty from the nurses early on in Harry’s confinement; they had hacked at his face with an electric razor that, while something Eggsy was familiar with, wasn’t doing any favors to the man lying prone and unconscious. Eggsy had mentioned off-handedly to Merlin that Harry’d be right pissed about the state of his face if he woke up with a botched shave, and Merlin surprised him a few days later with Harry’s shaving toiletries. While Eggsy had never used a safety razor (he was more of a five-blade Gillette man, himself), YouTube and a repurposed and inflated condom nicked from the cabinet in Harry’s hospital room meant that Eggsy had some sort of practice before he went to work on the man himself.

Eggsy was an old hand this now, coming by every other day during his lunch break to perform the ritual that no one talked about. Not even Eggsy could really explain why he was doing this; to him it just felt right. Every time he touched Harry’s face to begin brushing the foamy badger bristles over the man’s cheeks, the always-present feeling of something in his gut coalesced into a radiant calm. It made him feel irrationally like he was _providing_ for Harry, and that calmed him in a way he’d never felt before. Even now, as his hands slicked the razor over the sleeping man’s chin, Eggsy felt at peace.

“Gonna be gone fer a week or so. I’ll see if Merlin or somebody else can come in and get you all dolled up while I’m gone, yeah? Wouldn’ do fer you to wake up this week with a hairy face and thinkin' nobody cared enough to clean you up.” Eggsy smiled absently as he finished his task. What used to take 45 minutes now took roughly 15, from start to finish.

He laid a warm, wet washcloth over Harry’s shorn face, and took out the small pair of snips. Eggsy went to work trimming Harry’s longer hair into something less wild, though he’d need the man to wake up and visit a barber for a proper cut. At least this way, Eggsy often mused, he wouldn’t run screaming to the hills when he came to and saw himself in a mirror.

He finished swiftly, and used another cloth to apply some of the oiled water to Harry’s lax skin. He dried the man then, and cleaned up the toiletries. Setting them out to dry, he turned back to his prone mentor.

“Well, ‘Arry. I’m off, then. Don’ wake up without me, yeah? Got an awful lot to catch you up on and all.” With a final nod, he left the medical rooms and made his way to the locker rooms to change.

Eggsy had just finished lacing up his combat boots when Roxy appeared in the locker room. Some of the others had come in while Eggsy was there as well, though whatever expectation of privacy Roxy might have had was long gone. She barely blinked and stripped to her sports bra and what looked to Eggsy like runnings shorts, before donning her own gear.

“Ready for this, Eggsy?” She spoke to him while dressing, her voice slightly muffled by the layers of fabric she was pulling on.

“As ready as we can be, I guess.”

“Wait for me?” Roxy motioned to Eggsy, who was fully dressed, while she herself had a bit more to finish.

“Course. Watchin’ you get dressed is the only way I get me kicks these days, yeah?” Eggsy leered comically at her and waggled his eyebrows.

Roxy responded by throwing one of her combat boots at his chest. She finished quickly, and together they made their way out to the front lawn. They met up with the rest of the cohort in the main foyer, and were halted by Merlin’s voice over the loudspeaker.

“Right. Wait a moment there, lads. Inspection first.”

The recruits fell in, the straight line something they were entirely used to at this point.

Two unknown agents approached them from another corridor carrying a small black bag and began doing a cursory pat down. Each asked the recruit they stood in front of to turn out their pockets, show that the hidey-holes and hidden pockets built into their gear were empty and so on. When they finished, they turned away from the cohort and removed a clipboard from the bag.

“Right. Turn to face the doors, recruits,” came Merlin’s voice again. “You’ll be running for the ‘K’ at the sound of the buzzer.”

The cohort did so, moving from parade rest to a more active position.

“Remember the rules, lads. Dinnae want to have to repeat them.”

The recruits waited, posted to run at the first hint of a sound. The buzzer sounded and they bolted. Eggsy stayed firmly towards the back, figuring he’d catch an elbow to the nose trying to dive in first. As it happened, though, he needn't have done so.

Charlie reached the pile first, and tried pulling out not one, but two duffels, but neither seemed to budge. The others, including Eggsy, caught up easily, and all tried to gather up a bag. It took them a few seconds to realize that either something was weighing down the bags, or they were attached to something on the ground.

Roxy figured it out first, but it didn’t matter.

As she tugged, a small click reached her ears, and she snapped her head up to look at Eggsy. He met her eyes, confused. She glanced back down and a rolling white smoke was spewing from the pile.

She gasped, realizing their mistake.

“Gas! Gas!” Roxy tried crying out to the cohort, but the others were already choking and coughing.

Eggsy stumbled back from the pile, but his lungs already felt full and his limbs felt leaden. As the night sky swam over his eyes, he heard a deep voice in the growing darkness.

“Night night, lads….”

 

***

 

Eggsy wakened to the sounds of birds overhead and a splitting headache. It felt like the worst hangover of his life. He was being stabbed slowly in the back by something blunt, and he became increasingly aware of _something_ crawling in his hair.

The ungentlemanly shriek he let loose as he jumped up and flailed his hands through his hair, dislodging whatever critter had taken up residence, was never to be spoken of, he decided.

Eggsy leaned forward and braced his hands on his knees, taking in deep lungfuls of cool air. It smelled vaguely green and damp, like the woods but colder. He looked around, and tried to figure out where he was.

It was early morning, a dull fog preventing him from seeing further than about 10 meters ahead of him, but it was easy to certain that he was indeed in a forest setting. The trees were tall and mostly pine as far as he could tell. There was a soft layer of powdery snow upon the ground, but when he reached down and grabbed some in a gloved hand, it melted very quickly.

‘ _Not completely freezing temps, then_ ,” he thought to himself, trying to recall the distant survival training he’d had in the Royal Marines. The black duffel bag propped against a tree at his direct south confirmed to him that this was, in fact, a Kingsman setup. He walked over to it, crouched, and unzipped it to see what he’d been given.

The first thing he spied inside was an envelope. It was the plastic kind that held invoices on boxes, and there were at least one or two pieces folded up inside. Eggsy reached to his thigh where his knife was holstered and met only an empty sheath. He stopped for a moment and took stock of himself; he had been stripped of all weapons, and it felt like the leather straps of his wing belts had been replaced with ripstop nylon and d-rings rather than the easy-release clasps he had been using. Realizing that this, in fact, meant someone had stripped him at least to the chest, Eggsy sat back on his heels and began pressing his still-gloved hands against the meaty muscle groups of his body. Four points in, he felt the telltale soreness of an intramuscular injection. He’d also been given a parka, a matte black overstuffed number, and it was what had been keeping him warm enough to wake up.

‘Tracker,’ he thought dimly. At least this way, he figured, they’d be able to find him if necessary. And it also prevented recruits from being lost when assholes like Charlie would go ahead and take their key fob trackers anyway.

Returning to the pack, he opened the plastic envelope by pulling apart the thin plastic. Inside he found a simple typed note:

_46º 30’16 N_

_7º  8’35 E_

The second paper was a small typed list:

_1\. Return to Kingsman UK HQ within 120 hours._

_2\. Don’t die._

_3\. Self-flight not permitted._

_4\. Public transit not permitted._

_5\. Good luck._

__

Eggsy reread the coordinates and the list, memorizing every piece of information on them. He assumed the coordinates were where he was, but given his lack of a GPS system or a map to consult, he was currently unaware of where that might be. He did know it was cold, it was morning, he was in a forest, and there were no human noises to be heard.

Setting the papers aside on the ripped plastic of the envelope, Eggsy dug further into the pack. He pulled out five items from all the pockets and linings that he could find and tear into. He was given a 30 ounce Nalgene water bottle (not filled, he noted), a stack of playing cards from different decks (and made from different materials), a vegetable peeler (the antique kind), a balaclava, and a green ladies’ makeup compact with mirror and cake foundation in a much darker shade than his own skin. Eggsy consulted the assembled items for a bit, opening and closing them, bending them when possible, and inspecting them for defects and the like.

Finally, he repacked everything, and slung the duffel bag over his shoulder. He knew from his previous training that there would be no way to tell the time of day or the direction of the sun’s movement without seeing the sun, so Eggsy began walking. He found a towering pine tree that looked like it had branches strong enough to hold his weight, dropped the duffel, and got climbing.

The tree was far taller than he expected, and the wind blowing above the treetops made it sway erratically. Eggsy wasn’t afraid of heights, but given that he wasn’t permitted to use his wings if he fell still sent a shiver down his spine, even despite his free-running and gymnastics training. Halfway up the tree, Eggsy began wishing he’d brought the balaclava to protect his face. The wind was bitter, and it was clear that wherever he was had more snow than England did right now. Little shards of snowy ice hit his cheeks as he climbed, and more than once his hands or boots slipped on the slick tree branches. He felt sticky and filthy from the pine sap that oozed around his hands, and he wished dearly for some kind of oil to dissolve the resin.

Finally, though, he cleared the treetops around him and got a decent view.

The sun was brighter than he anticipated since there was clear snow around him dusting the treetops, but it only took a moment for the spots to fade from his view and for eggsy to realize just how fucked he was.

 

_There were god damned mountains everywhere._

 

It occurred to Eggsy that he must be in a valley if there was enough tree coverage to warrant a forest, but the thought took backseat to the stuttering thought of ‘ _god damned bloody fuckin’ fuck why the fuck are there fuckin’ mountains?!_ ’

He rallied easily enough, the cold wind making his reverie a swift one, and he began tracking the sun across the sky. He could tell that the sun was rising to his right, and he formulated a rough clock-face of direction in his mind with that in mind. He felt the wind’s direction stay on course, so he was fairly sure of where he could shelter if it cut through the trees. But the most important thing to him was the glittering sparkle of a river cutting through the landscape some kilometers to his south west. Eggsy oriented himself for almost a half hour, clutching the swaying treetop until he felt he could safely navigate without losing too much in the way of direction sense. With this in mind, he climbed down the tree, descending into the forest below.

He retrieved his pack and went ahead and pulled out the balaclava. Rather than wearing it over his face, he rolled the bottom hem and wore it like a watch cap, keeping his ears protected. Being mindful of his direction sense, Eggsy set off down towards the river he’d seen winding along. He was used to long marches and hikes from his training, but this was something else. The cold wasn't terrible, but he was very aware of the problems he’d face if he didn’t find some sort of shelter or dry wood for fire before nightfall. He also needed food, but he could make do with just water for several days. Figuring out exactly where in the world he was was at the top of his list after water, so he resolved to find civilization rather than roughing it back.

He hiked for hours, finally coming to a plateau with few trees and quite a bit of snow. He stopped, opened his Nalgene and added some snow to that. Letting it melt took forever, but he managed a few precious mouthfuls of snowy-water to abate his thirst. He was ever mindful of the fact that too much of the almost-frozen water would lower his body temperature to dangerous levels, so he only took small sips as he hiked on.

Eggsy was struck for a moment as he trudged through the snowy mud of what was an otherwise perfectly lovely mountainous valley, that if his life were in fact a musical or a rags-to-riches tale, he was due for some better weather in which to prance and sing across the hills. Muddy snow, no food or water, and rapidly cooling temperatures _were not_ in the “chav to sav” handbook, thank you very much.

His mind turned to Harry as he crossed the fields. Eggsy wondered whether the man had done a similar mission when _he_ was in training to become Galahad. Merlin had said this was a “new” test, but the more Eggsy thought about it, the more he assumed it was simply a newer iteration of the same kind of survival tests they’d been giving out the whole time. Not a single agent would be worth his salt if he couldn’t perform in rough conditions, “gentleman spy” act notwithstanding. He wondered if Harry would awaken during the week he was gone; he’d forgotten to ask Merlin or one of the nurses to keep up with Harry’s grooming, so he fervently hoped (though he felt entirely terrible for it) that the man wouldn’t wake up until after Eggsy had gotten back and given him another shave.

As focused on his thoughts as he was, Eggsy didn’t realize how close he was to the river until he nearly fell in. He caught himself at the last moment and landed on his rear, the duffel bag across his shoulders banging roughly into his back. He scrambled up to his knees, and leant over the river to run a hand through the moving water. It was freezing cold, but when he cupped his hands in it, he could see it was clear of debris and cloudiness. He got back onto his haunches, and retrieved the Nalgene from his bag. He filled the bottle with clear, cold water, and screwed the lid back on. He replaced it in his pack, and checked the sun.

It was past noon, though Eggsy couldn’t tell the time to the minute. As best he could figure, it was somewhere around 2 pm, local time. Where that was, he still wasn’t sure. He thought back to his Marines training, but there was little there that could help him here.

‘ _Well, river means a bridge. Water means life, life means people, people mean a bridge and a village,_ ’ he thought. Eggsy began trekking what he assumed was east along the river’s edge. Indeed, within the hour he had reached what looked to be a road. There were no signs and the road wasn’t particularly much more than a service route, but it was the first sign of civilization he’d found so far. His difficulty came in realizing the road traveled north and south, but either way was littered with mountainous foothills.

“So. Pick a fuckin’ direction an’ get walkin’, yeah?” Eggsy breathed to himself, his breath making soft puff of steam in front of him. He arbitrarily chose southwards to travel, assuming that if he stayed heading in a southerly direction, eventually he’d either hit the Mediterranean or die.

He was despairing of ever finding any kind of civilization as the sun slowly sank behind the mountains, casting the valley and road into shadow, when he heard a curious rumbling whine coming behind him. He turned and watched as an older model service truck lumbered up the route towards him. He stuck his arm out and waved it frantically. The truck slowed, and came to a stop near him.

A man emerged from it, wearing some sort of fluorescent parka and a watch cap. He was an older gentleman, and had a full beard of white whiskers.

“Was in Gottes Namen machst du hier draußen?!”

Eggsy paused a moment as his brain caught up with the words from the other man.

“Er, uh, ich bin…lost?”

“Ja, I think you are, mein gott!” The man motioned for Eggsy to come to the truck. “Closer, ja! Get in, get in! How are you here?! This part of die Alpen is… geschlossen…. out of business for the season, ja?”

“Wait, did you say ‘the Alps?’” Eggsy looked at the man dumbly as he got into the truck. Blessedly, the heater was on and the cabin of the truck was warm. The man revved the engine a bit and began driving down the path again.

“Ja! Die Alpen. We are in Der Regionale Naturpark Gruyère Pays-d’Enhaut. Switzerland, ja?”

“Right.”

“You speak Deutsch? German?”

“Sorry, not very much.”

“Français?”

“Uh, oui. Un peu. Plus français que l'allemand, oui.” Eggsy wracked his brain for the French lessons he had been receiving as part of his Kingsman training. He’d taken a year of Welsh in secondary school, but the rest of his linguistic education was ongoing.

“Is alright, then. Ich spreche ein wenig Englisch. Some English, ja?”

“Ja. Yes. God, _thank you_ for picking me up. Do you work around here? Um, travaillez-vous dans la zone?”

“Oh ja! This is park where I work! Big park for entire country, le pays.”

“Oh! National park?”

“Ja!”

“Are we near a town? Um, une ville?”

“Ja, there is a city. Closest is Saanen. You are British, ja?”

“Yes. I… got separated from my tour group?” Eggsy offered lamely.

“Is okay! Happens all the time! Climbers, skiing, ja? Wrong turn and ‘poof!’” The man was animated as he drove. “We find in spring, ja? Frozen.”

Eggsy pulled a face of disgust, but nodded in agreement.

“Well, I’m glad you found me then. Can you take me to Saanen, then?”

“Oh ja! There is transport; Busse und Bahnen, trains and bus, ja?”

“Perfect. Danke, really. Danke.” Eggsy didn’t bother to tell the man that he was disallowed from using the mass transit in the city. At the very least, he’d be able to get someplace warm for the night and figure out how to get back to HQ tomorrow.

“Um, do you know the date? Savez-vous de la date?”

The man’s response cheered Eggsy. “Ja, it is 19 Novembre.”

That meant he hadn’t been missing for more than a day. They had been drugged the night of the 18th. 96 hours or so remained on his “test.”

The trip to Saanen was punctuated with a few swerves to avoid ice or various other detritus on the paths, but soon the man turned off onto a properly paved road. They passed few cars, but it was clear they were heading into an actual town. As they descended into the town, Eggsy was relieved to see lights blazing through the darkness. But it was clear from the size that this was not a large city; rather it reminded him of the small kind of hamlet or town that he saw on telly as the “vacation town” of wealthy idiots.

The man stopped in front of a warm-looking building that was clearly an inn or hotel of some sort.

“No trains at night. No bus either.” He looked apologetic, but Eggsy didn’t mind. “I will go speak with Claudia. She owns. You will stay here, ja?”

“Ja, of course.” Eggsy pulled a rueful face. “I don’t… ich habe no money… Geld.”

The man simply waved him off.

“You are lost, ja? We will take care.”

Eggsy released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and said, “Ja. Danke.”

The man shuffled out of the truck, leaving it running for the heater. Eggsy looked at the quaint town through the windshield. It looked like the kind of village that belonged on the cover of an advent calendar, filled with chocolates and toys. There were a few modern-looking buildings here and there, and some of the older homes had clearly been remodeled at some point to provide better launch and landing areas off of balconies, but it was almost picturesque. At the top of a hill he could see a large building, though he couldn’t entirely make out the architecture; he presumed it was some sort of hotel or government building.

The man returned and motioned for Eggsy to follow him. Gathering his duffel bag, he got out of the truck. The snow crunched beneath his feet as he was led into the quaint inn. It reminded him, in a way, of Kingsman’s tailor shop. It was all wood and stone, with a large fire roaring in the obscenely large hearth that Eggsy was sure was five hundred years old and used to be used for cooking. He was led to a kindly looking woman, older than Harry, with the air of a grandmother about her. Her wings were a soft pumpkin color, with mate-feathers the color of a bright green apple dappled throughout, making them seem like leaves on a tree on the cusp of autumn. They fluttered in a motion Eggsy recognized as protective.

‘ _This must be Claudia,_ ’ thought Eggsy, happy to be out of the cold and the dark.

Her eyes twinkled a bit in the firelight and she put two large hands on his shoulders.

“Keine Sorge, wir werden das alles schon wieder hinkriegen, junger Mann. Aber fürs Erste bist du hungrig? Oder willst du dich ausruhen?”

Eggsy only caught a few words like “hungry,” “young man,” and “rest,” but nodded effusively at the woman.

She laughed a nice, relaxing laugh and motioned for Eggsy to follow her.

“Sprichst du deutsch?”

“Not much, I’m sorry. Je.. Je parle un peu français. Surtout l’anglais.”

“Ah, well then. English it is.” Claudia’s voice was low and warm, and though her English was accented with French, it was perfect. “I speak much better English than Joël does. The man who rescued you, oui? He is my mate.”

“Yeah, I don’t rightly know what I’d have done if ‘e ‘adn’t found me.” Eggsy allowed himself to be led to what was clearly a renovated kitchen, likely the building’s service kitchen-turned-staff breakroom. Claudia pulled out a chair for him from the old dining table and busied about the refrigerator, pulling out various foodstuffs.

“Joël works for the _Service de Parcs Nationaux_. We host skiing tourists frequently, and they go missing from time to time. He and his fellows travel the roads daily for animal watching, and the occasional lost little Anglais oisillon, non?”

“Sorry, what?”

Claudia laughed and set a plate and a set of napkin-wrapped utensils in front of Eggsy. It held a cold slab of ham, some kind of brown bread with a sinfully large pat of butter on top, and what looked like a variation of potato salad. Eggsy picked up a fork and took a small bite of the potatoes, careful not to overdo it on an empty stomach. He was also incredibly mindful of not wanting to look like a completely uncultured ass in front of the kind woman.

His rumbling stomach, however, had different ideas.

“Eat, fledgling. You look famished. Boys like you, you need the strength, oui?” Claudia studied him with mirth in her wizened face.

“Where are your ailes, your wings? Are you injured?”

“Non, no… I just ‘ave them pinned back,” Eggsy said, feeling oddly like a deer in headlights. He blurted, “The cold, you know? I didn’ want them to get frostbite.”

“Ah, yes. Good thinking. Is an injury we see here when the skiers come through. Foolish little poulets arrive with a thousand Euros’ worth of designer ski equipment, but forget to wear… écran solaire? Sun… shade?”

“Sunblock cream, yeah.”

“Oui. Just so. They forget these things, and their wings and faces suffer for it.”

Eggsy nodded and shoveled more food in his mouth.

“But it is not the skiing season, non? I think you are here for something else.” Claudia had a shifty sort of smirk on her face.

“Er, I… can’t actually say?” Eggsy offered lamely.

Claudia waved him off with a puff of laughter.

“Oh, oui, oui.” She affected a clearly terrible Yank accent and said, “‘If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you!’”

Eggsy laughed around the bite in his mouth, almost choking on the crumbs when he heard this. He slapped his fist into his chest, and swallowed thickly.

“Yeah, pretty much. Just… military stuff, you know? Les militaires?” Eggsy felt bad about lying, but there was no way in hell he’d be allowed to just tell any random person on the street about Kingsman, let alone the kind woman feeding him and keeping him warm. He’d rather not see her disappear as if she’d never existed, at any rate.

“Oui, mon petit canard. But for now, you are here. Give me your parka and I will dry it by the hearth. You can let your wings stretch some, non?”

“Yeah. That’d be nice.”

Eggsy unzipped and shrugged off his bulky winter coat. The polyester wasn’t entirely soaked through, but it would feel ten times better to have it dry before whatever the next leg of his journey was. He handed the sodden bulk to Claudia who disappeared for a few minutes. Eggsy finished eating, and stood to take his dishes to the nearby sink. He scrubbed them clean and was placing them in the draining rack as Claudia returned.

“You do not need to do this, fledgling. I am happy to see to your needs.”

“Nah, me mum always made sure I knew to ‘elp out ‘round the place when people were being all ‘ospitable.”

“She sounds like a smart woman.”

Eggsy smiled in memory and nodded.

“Well, come along little one. I have a bed for you. It is late and you still look half-frozen.”

Eggsy nodded at her and gave her a grateful smile. He was exhausted from hiking all day, and he knew there was no way he could stay here longer than a night. He intended to make it count.

Claudia led the way into a smallish room. It didn’t look like a guest room, but it was warmed by the massive antique radiator along the wall and the bedding looked fresh. Eggsy spied a small lavatory just off the room, with a basic but serviceable shower, toilet and sink.

“This is our ‘hostel’ room, oui? For travelers and the young fledglings who come here between school sessions. Do you have these in England?”

“A few, I think. Not like the rest of the Continent, though.”

“Ah. Well, this will be yours until you need to go, mon petit canard. We breakfast at half seven in the great room.”

Claudia flashed him another matronly smile, flicked her wings in a no-nonsense manner, and left him to his own devices. The door shut behind her with a heavy thunk.

He stripped, placing his clothing on the radiator to dry out any damp spots that remained, and ran the shower. Despite there only being a large block of what he presumed was homemade soap, Eggsy felt cleaner than he had in months. The power of a solitary, private shower was one that he hadn’t realized he missed until it was gone. Even the so-called “private” shower stalls at HQ in the gymnasium weren’t much more than a mass of cinderblock rooms cordoned off by a a single shower curtain that simply prevented steam from escaping the long hall.

Now, with a frankly astonishing amount of hot water cascading down upon his shoulders, Eggsy felt relaxed in a way he almost never could. He let his thoughts drift as he simply stood under the water, trying to piece together the last two days’ worth of stress. Bit by bit, his muscles relaxed, the corded tightness beneath his wings dropping further and further until they allowed his wings to drop fully, golden feathers trailing the draining water at his feet.

Eggsy’s mind wandered far; he thought about Daisy and his mum, wondering what they were up to with him being gone these past few months. He worried a bit over the fact that he hadn’t been able to ensure some level of supervision for Daisy, but he resolved to try and contact Children’s Services when he returned to England. He wondered how JB was doing, and whether Merlin would see to it that the dogs were taken care of. Eggsy hadn’t thought to arrange some sort of feeding or exercise program, but even as he added this as another tick mark to the ‘ _Eggsy is an eternal fuck up_ ’ list he kept mentally, he also added it to the much shorter ‘ _Must never forget, ever_ ’ list he kept even deeper.

So far in his life, there were only a few items on that second mental list: his mum’s genuine smile, Daisy’s first joyous gurgle at him in recognition, the desperate need to remove Dean from his life, a dim memory of his father and he reading a book before bed….

_The scent of spice and tea, cinnamon eyes, heat, Harry’s copper wings entwined with his own…._

Eggsy’s eyes snapped open as his mind glanced over that last, clearly imagined part, his body thrumming with something undefinable and arousing at the thought. He groaned and leaned his too-hot face against the cool tile of the shower stall.

He was achingly hard from the thrilling thought of his sponsor, and though previous sexual encounters with others (both willing and paid for) left him feeling raw and vaguely violated, this felt real.

He slipped one hand down his chest and took himself in hand. The water ran rivulets of warmth across his nerve-wracked skin and if he tried hard enough, he could almost imagine it feeling like the heat that had crawled under his skin once upon a time. His free hand rubbed at his neck, and he almost caught himself slipping when one of his wings bumped into the shower head. It had lifted in response to Eggsy’s arousal, tensing and relaxing with each lazy stroke he gave to himself.

He gripped himself more firmly and began working his hand in earnest. He twisted his hand around the reddened end of his cock, catching the slickness that welled up with every pull, and used it to ease the roughness of his hand as it slipped back and forth. His hips thrust his cock into his fist, and he hauled the lifted wing around his body with a roll of his shoulder. The hand on his neck trailed over his chest and grasped the muscular heft of his wing just below the first articulation. Eggsy had only indulged in stroking his own wings very occasionally, something entirely too intimate about the action causing him to shy away from it. But at different points in his life, and at seemingly unrelated intervals, he felt the unrelenting need to touch them and coax them into trembling arousal unlike anything he’d felt.

He bunched his hand into the golden feathers that lay quivering across the edge of his wing, feeling the solid flesh beneath as taut as the rest of his body. He drew fingers over the coverts that slowly grew into the primaries at his wingtip. As he stroked his wing, he worked his cock faster, and his mind slipped to flickering images of copper wings and cinnamon eyes, the scent of that _unknown something_ in his mate’s mystery cologne, and the feeling of fire as it branded him as belonging to someone.

Eggsy’s arms were straining against the tension coiled in his body, a spring tightening and tightening, ready to burst. The fingers on his wing clutched shamelessly at the feathers, ruffling them out of place. The hand on his cock moved fast enough that in the dim, dull part of his mind, Eggsy knew he’d be sore the next day. His hips snapped in a rhythm known to the timeless centuries, but it wasn’t _enough_. So Eggsy did something he’d sworn to never do: He thrust his fingers into the three copper color mate-feathers at the tip of his wing.

And he snapped.

His mind was thrown as if from his body, and he barely registered his cock painting the tile of the shower in stripes of cream. A hoarse shout tore itself from his throat, and his legs gave out from underneath him. Eggsy landed roughly against the shower basin, the pain of hitting his knees nowhere to be found. He sobbed, tears of pleasure and release and something vulnerable streaking down his face.

By the time Eggsy was able to raise his head, the water was cooling across his back and lank wings, and his thoughts had reformed into something less primal, though no less unnerving. Realization dawned on him in slow, subtle waves. He had shouted at the end, seed spilling from his body as _Harry’s_ name spilled from his lips.

Harry’s name.

Harry’s cinnamon eyes.

_Harry’s copper wings with golden tips to match his own._

 

***

 

_And in a dim hospital room underneath a Palladian estate, a man awakened slowly, his wings trembling beneath his prone form with unshed arousal and the soft, sensual, broken cry of his own name echoing about his mind._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of an implied amount of animal cruelty. It doesn't happen, but if the potential for animals coming to harm messes you up, read at your own risk.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> "Was in Gottes Namen machst du hier draußen" - What in God's name are you doing out here  
> "Ich bin" - I am  
> "mein Gott" - my God  
> "die Alpen" - The Alps  
> "geschlossen" - Closed, off limits  
> "Der Regionale Naturpark Gruyère Pays-d’Enhaut" - Gruyère Pays-d’Enhaut Regional Nature Park  
> "Deutsch" - German  
> "Français" - French  
> "Uh, oui. Un peu. Plus français que l'allemand, oui" - Uh, yes. A bit. More French than German, yes  
> "Ich spreche ein wenig Englisch" - I speak a little English  
> "travaillez-vous dans la zone" - Do you work around here  
> "le pays" - The country (as in the state, not the countryside)  
> "une ville" - A city/town  
> "Busse und Bahnen" - Busses and trains  
> "Danke" - Thank you  
> "Savez-vous de la date" - Do you know the date  
> "Novembre" - November  
> "ich have no money… Geld" - I have no money... money  
> "Keine Sorge, wir werden das alles schon wieder hinkriegen, junger Mann. Aber fürs Erste bist du hungrig? Oder willst du dich ausruhen?" - Don't worry, we'll get this all fixed, young man. But for now, are you hungry? Or would you prefer to rest?  
> "Sprichst du deutsch?" - Do you speak german  
> "Je parle un peu français. Surtout l’anglais" - I speak a little French. Mostly English, though.  
> "Service de Parcs Nationaux" - National Parks Service (I made this organization up for the story, but whatevs)  
> "Anglais oisillon" - English fledgling  
> "ailes" - Wings  
> "poulets" - Chickens  
> "écran solaire" - Sunscreen, sunblock  
> "Les militaires" - The military  
> "mon petit canard" - My little duckling


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter this time, but I have enjoyed where it has taken the story.
> 
> You always hurt the ones you love.
> 
> As always, any chapter-specific warnings at the end.

Crossing a border illegally was not the most felonious thing Eggsy had ever done in his short life. Given the relative lack of bureaucratic maintenance on any significant border that wasn’t also adjacent to a major thoroughfare, all it took was a hot-wired and stolen car, a physical map nicked from the first petrol station, and a genuine interest in driving faster than everyone else on any little-used road. However, as he drove closer and closer to the western borders of the Continent, Eggsy became increasingly paranoid about his maneuvers. This caused him to lose nearly a day performing switchbacks, swapping cars twice, and nearly driving into a lake in Alsace because of the circuitous route he elected to attempt.

Eggsy knew the real challenge wouldn’t be swiping a lonely car, or driving off with a tank full of stolen fuel; no, it would be the crossing into England herself. Unable to take the tunnel from Calais due to the instructions to avoid public transit, Eggsy found himself looking more and more to one of the numerous ferry crossings. However, he’d be unable to take the car across for fear of it having been reported stolen. This left him with precious few options, none of which seemed any better than the other.

He was curious about the other recruits, about JB, about how things were settling back at HQ. But most of all he was curious about Harry. Eggsy’s thoughts slipped to the man constantly now, childish memories of his mate and the man he knew now overlapping. Eggsy wasn’t even sure Harry was his mate, though the more he thought about it, the likelier it seemed. But that raised even more questions, ones Eggsy was unable to answer. And were he honest with himself, Eggsy wasn’t truly sure he wanted some of them answered.

However, no one ever accused Eggsy of honesty, least of all with himself.

Content with shoving all thoughts of his potential mate (and seemingly constant source of frantic arousal), Eggsy turned to the matter at hand. He had reluctantly left the Swiss inn before dawn that next morning, stealing Claudia’s car and leaving a note in a shaky hand promising to repay her for it and her kindness. Something awful had lodged itself under his breastbone as he was driving away from Saanen, the knowledge that he’d repaid her kindness with bastardy sitting ill within him. But given the constraints he was under, Eggsy hoped his reprehensible behavior fell under the category of “for the greater good.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do with himself if it didn’t.

Now, sitting at a cafe in a bustling, garment- and fashion-oriented arrondissement of Paris, Eggsy wondered what he’d do if he failed. He had 28 hours to return to HQ, and despite the hour-and-a-half sailing time it would take to reach Dover, Eggsy wasn’t entirely sure he knew _how_ to reach HQ. He was aware that it was somewhere outside London, but they hadn’t exactly given him a map in the duffel bag he was issued. He supposed he could go to London and try to take the shuttle system Harry had showed him on his first night of training, but there was no guarantee that the gentleman running the tailor shop would allow him in to use it. Eggsy wasn’t also sure that he could even _make_ London in the time he was allotted. He’d managed to steal money, a fairly nice-looking set of clothing, and even a few vehicles, but he’d been unable to nick a mobile and he hadn’t taken the time to find a library or internet cafe and use their computers to discover a better or faster route.

Eggsy sipped at the small espresso he’d ordered and used his fingertip to absent-mindedly pick up the remnant crumbs of what he was sure was the most expensive, but best-tasting, piece of pastry he’d ever had the fortune to consume. A French-language newspaper opened to a page about local fashion lay in front of him, left by a previous patron. He’d slept in his stolen car for a few hours the night before, and risked this stop for breakfast before continuing his journey to his homeland, but he had finally reached the end of his mental acuity. Eggsy was exhausted, mentally and physically, and though he was aware that this was not likely to be the hardest mission he might ever be sent on, it was a stark reminder that he was not yet a Kingsman agent.

“007 makes it look so fuckin’ easy, yeah?” he muttered to no one, and drained the last of his bitter, cooling drink. He stood, gathered the small cup and saucer, and returned them to the cafe hostess. Eggsy stopped back at his table, collecting the duffel bag he’d left under the table. To all outward appearances, he looked like any other young professional in the City of Lights. He wore a pale green button up shirt that accented his eyes and a grey waistcoat, the collar of the former open to accent the long line of his neck. He wore charcoal trousers in what he figured was some kind of wool blend, but they weren’t as fine as the siren suit he’d worn back at HQ. He’d been thrilled to see finer things than the cold-weather gear he’d had in Switzerland hanging on someone’s drying line; stealing them had been incredibly easy in a city known for its pickpockets. He let his wings flick about haughtily, as if he were born to do so, and reached down to gather up the newspaper to take to a nearby rubbish bin. He stopped and stared at the paper, not particularly believing his luck.

While Eggsy only spoke a moderate amount of conversational French, he could read a significant amount beyond his spoken comprehension. So when the words “…tailleurs anglais présentant les plus récentes coupes dans la branche récemment ouvert de Kingsman…” jumped from the page to his eyes, Eggsy knew he had to see what he could make work with this news. He grabbed the paper and returned to the cafe hostess, a winning smile on his face and golden wings shining behind him.

“Pardon?”

“Oui monsieur?”

“Pourriez-vous savoir où se trouve cette boutique? Kingsman. Une nouvelle boutique de tailleur?”

“Oh oui! Ils sont situés à seulement quelques rues d'ici. Permettez-moi de vous obtenir l’adresse.”

“Merci, mademoiselle.”

Eggsy leaned cheekily against the countertop waiting for the young woman to return. He gave her a brash wink when she handed him a small slip of receipt paper with an address written down upon it, her dyed-pink wings curving gracelessly in obvious interest despite their owner’s affected coyness. It never failed to amaze Eggsy how few people in the world controlled their wings’ articulations like he did. They were as effusive in giving out emotional tells as hands or facial twitches were. He’d learned at a young age to watch wings rather than faces; the truth lay in their flicks and quivers.

He left the cafe, tucking the newspaper under his arm, feeling much lighter than usual as he strolled down the street.

Paris was a lovely city, and though Eggsy knew he’d not be spending much time there, he resolved to bring his mother and sister as soon as he had some money saved. He’d passed parks with laughing children that Daisy would love, and despite the ills life had wrought upon her, his mother still fondly remembered her weekend in Paris with Eggsy’s father after they’d been married. He wasn’t particularly aware of the salary of a Kingsman, but he assumed it was generous enough to cover closets of suits and all of the finery that Pinnacle-flock seemed to be drawn to.

Something else that he’d discovered about Paris that made him resolve to return was a much laxer form of societal convention. Nadir- and Ascent-flocks were equally represented as servers and baristas, and Pinnacles, though clearly wealthy, seemed to interact with both with nary a dark look. Eggsy wasn’t sure what all lurked beneath the glamour of Paris, but on the surface, it seemed that even a small vacation here might be just what the doctor ordered for his small family.

So it was with a thread of relaxation running through his body that Eggsy found himself staring down a near-twin to the front of the familiar Saville Row shop. He ascended the steps and went inside. Though the store hadn’t yet fully absorbed the scent of virgin wool, the familiar vanilla scent of cigar smoke and the vaguely citrus scent of wood polish were ingrained in the old building. Though the interior was set up differently than Eggsy recalled the London shop being displayed, it was undeniably Kingsman. An older gentleman, though not the familiar Pellinore, manned the cutting counter. He gave Eggsy a friendly, though obviously practiced “retail” smile. His wings were the color of a soft autumn moon, a shimmering golden so light it was almost invisible in the relatively dim light of the store, and his sandy brown hair was liberally streaked with silver. He had a craggier face than Pellinore, but Eggsy could see the same kindness in both men’s faces.

“Bonjour Monsieur. Comment pourrait Kingsman vous aider aujourd’hui?” The man’s French was flawless, and directed at Eggsy.

“Good morning to you, as well. I’m looking for a very… specific kind of suit. I was curious as to whether you might be able to help me?” Eggsy adopted Harry’s accent, his enunciation a bit too forced, but serviceable. “And, forgive me, I did not catch your name.”

“My apologies sir. You may call me Alain.”

Eggsy smiled genuinely and widely at the man’s name. One of the first things the cohort had begun learning in their training was actual tailoring. It was one of the few tasks at which the Pinnacle-flock recruits had almost no experience. Eggsy fared only marginally better, having learned how to sew a straight line for attaching patches and to attach buttons by hand while in the Marines. But while the others studied the craft only as much as they were obliged to (or not at all, in Charlie and Digby’s cases), Eggsy had _listened_.

Pellinore, London’s primary tailor, was one of the oldest Kingsmen alive, and before taking over the shop he’d been one their finest active knights. An injury to his knee removed him from active service, but he’d been retained because of his overwhelming knowledge about both the organization and how it interacted with the world’s various agencies, and because of his world-class knowledge of spy craft in general. He was their tailor and their primary strategist, consulted when large-scale operations needed managing, and had at one point been considered for Arthur’s position before declining to spend more time among his beloved fabrics and notions. He had been instrumental in developing some of Kingsman’s finest cloth, and the kevlar weave that protected its agents from bullets was of his own design.

Eggsy was enthralled with it all. He’d always enjoyed working with his hands, but the skills taught to Nadir-flock degenerates like himself were much more likely related to crime than to creation. Eggsy wasn’t particularly gifted with a knack for the trade, but over the weeks he’d gotten good enough to expertly repair the siren suits they all wore on a daily basis. Even the finest wools couldn’t be protected from thorns or a young dog’s claws; tears and rips were to be expected. After the first trip back to the shop to try and beg buttons off of Pellinore to replace the ones he simply couldn’t find in the field after their first drastic flight, Eggsy learned to fix things on his own rather than send the suit to be repaired and sent back.

The older man had shown him where the needles and thread were kept, had shown him how to re-weave the torn fibers when possible and how to patch or darn the spots that weren’t salvageable. The first time the bald man had looked on Eggsy’s work with something akin to pride in his bright blue eyes, Eggsy had nearly melted. From that point on, any trip to the tailor shop that the recruits were offered, Eggsy took. The skill was quickly becoming one of his favorites, and it made him feel a curious sort of pride to think that this wasn’t something that Harry or Dean had taught him; he’d earned this skill on his own. So to Eggsy, listening to Pellinore talk about everything from fabric choices for winter suits vice spring suits, to chess strategy, to wine, to his family was no trouble at all as long as it meant the man kept teaching him.

Though the elderly man had no wife or children to speak of, he had a brother about whom he spoke very fondly. His brother, Pellinore had said proudly, was the finest tailor on the Continent, and the _second_ -best tailor in Kingsman. Eggsy’s laughing response, a query as to whether said brother would consider Pellinore the second-best tailor in the organization, earned him a smirk and a name:

_“Alain wishes he were the best tailor. He’ll have to settle for the best weaver. He’s the one that makes these… special fabrics, you see? Learned from the best in Flanders after the War when we were young lads.”_

Now, Eggsy was relieved to see that the oft-spoken of brother was before him.

“Alain, it is an incredible pleasure and honor to meet you. Your brother has had only the finest things to say about your skills, though he did make it very clear to me that he was the better tailor and you the better weaver.”

The elderly man paused and sighed kindly.

“And what is that wastrel of a tailor doing, sending tiny recruits to my door in poorly fitting shirts and what are clearly synthetic fibers?”

Eggsy blushed a bit and rubbed the back of his neck in a gesture of defensiveness.

“Hoping you might take pity on one of them and give him a bit of advice on how to get home?”

“Ah, yes. The drag-and-drop. I’d almost forgotten how easy you lads have it these days, what with your camera phones and your computers and your satellites. When Pelly and I went through it, we had a compass and a canteen and only a dim hope to avoid frostbite or trench foot.”

“To be honest, sir, I was very nearly there just a few days ago. The Alps are not kind this time of year.”

“No, indeed, they are not. Now then, come with me.”

Eggsy followed the man, who led him up a flight of stairs.

“I don’t suppose you’re allowed the trains or your own wings, then? That was the rule when we were recruited.”

“No sir, neither. Nor are we allowed any other form of public transit like a taxi or a bus system. I’d considered trying to sneak aboard a ferry, but I’m not sure whether that counts as public transit or not.” Eggsy said as he was led into a room not dissimilar to the meeting room at the tailor shop in London, though the differences were noticeable.

Alain motioned to a chair by a fireplace at the end of the room. Their table was much smaller than the London branch’s, and didn’t dominate the room nearly as much.

“Wouldn’t risk it, my boy. That Merlin of yours, this new one? Quite the disagreeable bastard.”

Eggsy opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by an odd sort of subsonic whine not unlike the noise he could hear when a television was turned on. Then Merlin’s own voice came thundering from the walls.

“Aye, and you’re a crafty old bugger who won’t die. Unwin, why are you bothering Alain in Paris? You’re supposed to be home in a little over a day.”

“Sightseein’, bruv. You know ‘ow it is.” Eggsy’s natural accent inadvertently slipped through in his cheeky response to Merlin’s dry brogue.

“Oh ho! Another of Galahad’s experiments then?” Alain said aloud after hearing Eggsy’s usual tone, no doubt aware of the insult it carried.

Eggsy pulled a face but remained silent.

“I saw that,” said Merlin to Eggsy. “And no, not an experiment. Unwin is as fine a recruit as any in this cohort. And if you tell them I said that, I’ll make sure that a _second_ Unwin gets sent home in a body bag and his family given another medal from Kingsman.”

“Yes, Merlin, I mean sir. Yes sir.”

Alain all but howled with laughter at the sheepish reply Eggsy gave the still-ambient technical head.

“Oh, bugger off, you bog-trotting wanker. I’ve things to discuss with the boy that don’t involve you or your sheep-loving peculiarities.”

Eggsy’s jaw dropped a bit in shock and panic at the retort Alain gave Merlin, and was quickly rewarded with a stream of filth in a nearly incomprehensible Scottish accent before whatever signal was being transmitted was cut.

Alain helped himself to a drink and settled into a chair across from Eggsy’s.

“Poor bastard never did quite catch on that we’re all dearly in love with teasing him. Or he did, and he simply exists to make us all miserable. Either way, he’s fun at parties.”

Eggsy snorted a bit and looked at Alain, sobering.

“Let me guess. Can’ exactly ‘elp me out, then? Against the rules or somethin’?”

“Sadly my boy, no. We’re not _forbidden_ from interacting or teaching you young lads the public business, but for training exercises like this we’re disallowed from influencing you or helping you. All I can give you is an old man’s advice and a bit of good wine.”

Alain took a deep pull from his drink. Eggsy noted it was a wine, rather than the customary spirit that took up residence on what seemed like every flat surface of Kingsman’s entire holdings.

“That being said, I think you’ll find fitting room two a good place to get your bearings. Relax a bit. Have a glass of wine.”

Eggsy blinked a bit at this, but nodded.

“Thank you, sir. I will.”

He stood, preparing to leave, when Alain’s voice caught him again.

“If you don’t make it, come back here when you’re done. Pelly mentioned there was a recruit who was unusually interested in tailoring. I assume by your accent that that’s you. Not, of course, that I’m implying you’re somehow less than the others. Far from it. Wings like those, accent like that. The disparity is almost comedic in its tragedy. Whatever happens back in London doesn’t matter. I can always use an assistant or an apprentice. And Paris is much more… _tolerant_ of swan-kings.”

Eggsy cocked his head in confusion and sat back down. That wasn’t a phrase he’d heard used before.

“Sorry, sir? What exactly is a ‘swan-king?’”

Alain laughed into his wine.

“If you’re not a cuckoo, which I’m assuming you aren’t given your late father’s jawline, you’re a swan-king. Someone born with a higher calling, as it were. Too rare these days, and the wretches back in our homeland unfortunate enough to be born as one aren’t exactly looked kindly upon. You know the tale of the Ugly Duckling? Hans Christian Anderson. The tale of an ugly little bird among dirty chickens and silly ducks on a farm. He is ridiculed and beaten down by them, and no family of his can be found to care. He endures until he chooses to run away rather than face another day of despair, consigned to a life of misery and death. He wanders the forests and fields, growing older but always shunned from the farms he finds himself near. Eventually, he happens upon a lake filled with birds unlike any he has seen before. And upon seeing him, they rejoice. He is their king, and when he finally sees his reflection in the water, his denials of his beauty and worth fall away. He is like them, no, better than them, for he has lived a life of turmoil and degradation. And though he has never before met this flock of birds, they take him in and raise him up.

“And you, young cygnet, are a swan-king. Mark my words. You are worthy of more than you know. You will rise up.”

It was the firm and complete conviction in the elderly man’s voice that struck Eggsy first. Alain was so sure, so completely and utterly convinced that what he was saying was the truth, that it made Eggsy’s hands and wings tremble. His eyes burned with emotion, and he quickly dashed away tears before they could fall and embarrass him further. He had never been called worthy before, not even from Harry, his _dashing-perfect-beautiful-possible mate_ Harry. The older man had given him the chance, yes, but even their first real meeting had been tainted by his uncanny ability to undercut Eggsy in a way that hurt him far more deeply than Dean’s fists or strange men’s lustful hands on his wings ever could.

The stress of the past weeks, the innate fear of being told he wasn’t going to make it, _the entire first part of his life until now_ , each had driven him deeper into a state of hyperawareness and quiet despair that he’d felt unable to escape from. It drove him to be the best he could possibly be, but it also kept him bound as tightly as he bound his wings; he wasn’t a grown man with experience enough to understand and deal with the kinds of demands life had made on him. He was just Eggsy: too young and too old at the same time, just another lost and ugly little bird in a barnyard full of bigger, larger, meaner beasts. But hearing this praise, this desire  _for him_ , for little Eggsy Unwin, who had the wrong wings and the wrong skills and the wrong attitude, it made something inside his carefully built walls break.

Alain rose from the chair and set down his glass of wine. He crossed to Eggsy and placed two skilled hands upon the younger man’s shoulders. He looked down at Eggsy and nodded seriously after a moment of studying the boy’s blotchy face and gritted jaw.

“You will rise up.” With that pronouncement, Alain left Eggsy, his footsteps muffled against the soft rugs that lined the wooden floors.

Eggsy remained in the butter-soft chair for longer than he’d later think was strictly necessary, but the wracking sobs that tore from his throat would not let him leave.

***

When the time had come for him to compose himself, Eggsy reached for the half-full glass that Alain had left on the small table adjacent to the chair he’d occupied. Eggsy drained it, the sweet and honeyed burn soothing to the roughness that now dwelt within his throat. He stood up, and returned to the storefront. Though his eyes were reddened and his face felt swollen and full, Eggsy stood a little taller than he had been. His wings no longer dragged upon the ground as they were wont to do when he wasn’t focusing on keeping them in a particular position. To any and all who might see him, he looked every inch the well-bred young man of the world he tried to present when faced with the elite world of the Pinnacle-flock. More than his looks, however, was his sense of belonging. He had finally found something to be proud of within himself, and that meant a sense of belonging that had never before come to him naturally. Alain merely nodded to him, and motioned for Eggsy to head towards dressing room two.

While Eggsy had only ever experienced the startlingly long drop of the elevator in dressing room one back at London’s shop, he wasn’t entirely expecting anything out of the ordinary once he entered the small, but tastefully appointed room. He look around and saw the tools of the tailoring trade in their proper places; the tape measures and pins, the paper patterns draped neatly to his right. The dressing room looked like that, a posh dressing room. Eggsy made to turn as ask Alain what he was supposed to be doing when he spied an open decanter of berry-colored wine and a long-stemmed glass resting on a small silver tray. He went to pour a drink, as Alain had suggested, but was greeted with the faint smell of something acidly vinegar.

Though Eggsy made no guarantee about his knowledge of the upper parts of society and their various trappings, he did know alcohol. And there was no way in hell that anyone, even Nadir-flock, left wine out in a decanter for longer than a few hours. The tray and glassware wasn’t dusty, but when Eggsy touched the decanter, it was room-temperature. Combined with the smell, Eggsy knew that this was what he was meant to find.

He tried to lift the decanter, and sure enough, something nearby clicked. The floor moved a bit, and for just a second, it felt to Eggsy as though the world was spinning the wrong way. The reason for his imbalance became clearly obvious when, upon opening the door to the main portion of the shop, he was instead greeted with a network of tunnels, recently-installed floodlights illuminating what looked like… skulls? Beautifully placed skulls, held up by plinths and columns of bones.

“What the fuckin’ fuck?” Eggsy reached out to touch one gently, and yanked his hand back with a jerk when the clearly not-plaster feeling of lamp-warmed human bone was felt.

“FUCK.”

Logically, Eggsy knew he was somewhere called “the Catacombs.” He knew they were built under Paris, Rome, even London to an extent. Really, any major city that had been founded prior to William the Conqueror had them as a method of flood prevention, sewage matters, hiding places from invading forces, and easy disposal of the dead in the event of major illness. But logic rarely found its way into Eggsy’s countenance when faced with something of this macabre caliber, and he kept the shellshocked look of horror on his face as he travelled along the corridor.

Eventually the skulls and bones, though beautiful in their own terrifying way, gave way to proper cobblestone, brickwork, and repaired plaster. The walls looked like they had had graffiti at one point; Eggsy new the look of scrubbed brick and concrete better than most. However, it was clear that wherever in subterranean Paris he might be, this was Kingsman territory. Cameras had been installed every fifty meters or so, and Eggsy was sure that he’d seen what looked like laser tripwire nodes at various intervals.

The air wasn’t exactly fresh, and it unsettled Eggsy to think that he was in some labyrinthian maze with very little to his name that could be relied upon should something go wrong. Still, he trusted Pellinore, and thus Alain by proxy. Also, and this was of great comfort to Eggsy, the lights were still on, illuminating the rough-hewn stones that made up the floor. He walked for what felt like days, but couldn’t have been more than an hour. Twists, turn backs, even a few inclines and two sharp declines that really should have been called “jumps” saw him to what looked like some kind of old, grand cistern. The water it held near his feet was black in the dim illumination of the flood lights that ringed the area, but he was most relieved to see other people.

" _Living people,"_ his traitorous mind offered.

Apparently the cistern doubled as some sort of hub for Kingsman, with large catwalks suspended everywhere holding computers, server racks, and various gadgetry Eggsy had never seen before. Something he had seen before, however, caught his eye.

“Oi! Ain’t you dead?!” Eggsy’s voice echoed in the rounded cistern, and nearly all eyes were upon him. One set of sheepish eyes, though, were the ones he sought.

Amelia waved awkwardly from her position behind one of the tables on a catwalk and jerked her head to the left, motioning for Eggsy to follow her. Her gunmetal wings shook behind her, though whether in fear or with laughter, Eggsy couldn’t discern.

She hovered down with two beats of her wings and landed near Eggsy and looked at him curiously.

“Soooo.” Amelia drew out the word meekly, any further words from her cut off with a strong hug from Eggsy.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Amelia! We thought we’d fuckin’ killed you! ‘Ow the fuck are you alive?! An’ ‘ere in Paris?!”

She gave him an amused look.

“I was a plant. Sometimes the plant gets saved and then “quits”, sometimes they don’t get saved and they “die.” Only ever had to do it twice, counting your group. And I’m here in Paris specifically because they have cocked something up so miserably that they needed me here in person instead of at home in Berlin.”

Amelia’s voice was accented with a soft German sound, as though she had been born there but had moved at a young age.

“So it were just a test then, yeah?”

“Something like that, yes. Why are you here? I thought you were still in training!”

“Some kind of fucked up game Merlin’s playin’ with us. We all got dropped off somewhere and we gotta make it ‘ome by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Ah. Yes, the survival course.” Amelia’s gaze turned thoughtful for a moment as though she were recalling something. It then turned mischievous.

“Want to come see how the others are faring?”

“Fuck _yes_.”

She alighted and flew the few meters it took to return to her catwalk. Eggsy followed on foot, glad for the open space in the cistern after the confines of the Catacombs despite his non-flight. He approached her sedately, and she arched an eyebrow at him for it.

“You should practice more, Eggsy. You have wings for a reason.”

“Yeah, and you should be fuckin’ buried somewhere. We all got our reasons, aye?” His laughing tone belied the seriousness of his face and she smiled at him.

Amelia did some sort of work on the computer, and was able to pull up what looked very similar to Merlin’s monitors back at HQ. She pointed to a map that held six blinking green dots in various locations across the Continent, though upon closer inspection, most all seemed to be in France. What was surprising to Eggsy was the blinking amber dot directly over a spot north of London.

“One of your cohort. Must have either gotten ill or tapped out. You all have subdermal implants-“

“Yeah, I felt that bruise me first morning in the middle of the fuckin’ Alps. Thanks,” Eggsy interrupted Amelia with a mock look of anger.

“Yes well, whomever this is, and no I won’t tell you, either activated his or hers by damaging it or by having his or her vitals drop to a critical level. Chances are it was the second. Most people don’t know how to activate a subdermal implant like these.”

“Y’dig it out, yeah? Or bash it up good in your arm or thigh. Take a pipe to it or somethin’"

Amelia looked both faintly impressed and vaguely queasy at the thought.

“Yes, actually. Digging it out with a knife is the fastest, yes, but you can also short them with electrocution. Get yourself a few thousand volts, like a military-grade taser? Bzzt! It shorts and for all intents and purposes, you’re dead on the screens. Severe trauma that incapacitates but doesn’t kill can also cause it to go on the fritz. Gut shots and the like. Things that should kill you but don’t. You can’t even imagine the issues we’ve been having trying to adapt them to situations where you might be near an explosion or-“ Amelia cut herself off and chuckled mildly.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this. You’re not an agent yet.”

“Yeah, but what if I need to know it? You know, like fer a test or somethin’?”

“Then your instructors would tell you. Not anyone from Glas Tann.”

“What the fuck is a glass tan?”

“Glas Tann. Celtic. Merlin’s tree of life. You know James Bond, yes? It’s like Q-branch, only much better. Fewer explosions, better gear.” Amelia motioned around her at the cistern. “This is the Paris branch of the Glas Tann.

“ _Sick._ ”

“Mmm, yes. Now. How about we get you home, yes? I think if we do some finagling, we can get you there first. Sound alright?”

“Uh, yeah, but ‘ow? I don’t exactly have me passport, and I’m barred from public transit or using me wings. All I got is this fuckin’ thing.” Eggsy shook the duffel bag he’d brought with him, the various items and bits that he’d collected rattling and thumping around inside.

“Have a little faith. Besides…” Amelia trailed off as she tapped out more on the computer. “I think…. yes. Bors is due back this evening, and he’s flying from a private airstrip outside Giverny, which is about an hour northwest of Paris. We can get you there in time to catch a ride with him.”

“Ain’t that against the rules? Alain said ‘e couldn’ ‘elp very much.”

“He is right, of course. No _agent of Kingsman_ may help you directly. I am not an agent of Kingsman. I am of Merlin’s Glas Tann, and we’ve no such instructions. So is the pilot, and really just about anybody else who isnt out getting shot at on a regular basis.” Amelia smirked to herself and gave Eggsy a conspiratorial look. “Merlin really should give his instructions more accurately. We Germans _love_ accuracy. Besides, he’s not going to do anything to _me_. I’m his Morgana. He cannot function anywhere else in Europe without me.”

Eggsy nodded with her, holding in his amusement at the predicament, and took a breath.

“So ‘ow the fuck do I get to Giverny?”

***

Eggsy was fairly sure that the number of languages he was cursed at by Merlin was into the double digits by the time he ran out of steam. Eggsy had walked into HQ behind Bors an hour earlier, a full 15 hours before the deadline. He set his duffel bag on the bench next to Merlin, the man’s shock turning into a face one might make at a bad smell.

“Fucking Morgana,” was all Eggsy got out of Merlin before a streak of epithets and promises of revenge burst forth from the Scotsman, who had begun pacing midway through this tirade. Once he had run out of things to curse and lament, he turned on Eggsy. As Merlin opened his mouth to direct his rage at an easier and more readily available target, Eggsy held up a hand and looked at Merlin guiltily, though his gaze did not last long.

“Right bruv, chew me up later, yeah? I want to check on JB. I-“ Eggsy swallowed thickly, his reawakening guilt and self-loathing climbing anew into his throat. “I didn’ get anybody to keep an eye on ‘im an’ I want to make sure that ‘e’s okay.” He refused to meet Merlin’s eyes at that pronouncement, clearly upset by the thought that he’d not thought to set up any plans ahead of time.

Merlin’s gaze softened a hair at the obviously distraught boy in front of him.

“The dogs are fine, lad. We didn’t expect you to make arrangements for them since you were told you’d be here on the property. Though, I must say, Ms. Morton did take that into account and asked me directly to watch out for her dog. So she alone gets the bonus points this time around.”

Eggsy visibly relaxed at this, his wings drooping with relief.

“ _Thank you_ , Merlin, really.”

Merlin made an aborted attempt to leave, but kept staring at Eggsy.

“Lad… did you honestly believe we’d not take care of the dogs?”

The genuine confusion in Merlin’s voice found it’s match on Eggsy face.

“I… yes? I mean, it were a test, innit? Plannin’ ahead and the like? I didn’ figure you guys would let us take ‘em with us, so when I remembered I ‘adn’t asked anybody to watch JB… “ Eggsy stopped talking and tightened his jaw. “Nevermind, sir. Should’ve realized they’d be fine. S’my fault fer not thinkin’ far enough ahead to get ‘im all settled. Won’t ‘appen again, sir.”

“Right…. Well, seeing as you’re the first back you get to debrief first.” Merlin left the matter at that, though he was deeply unsettled by the knowledge that somewhere in Eggsy’s life, someone had taught the young man the kind of lesson he himself had really only known about abstractly; that given something good and kind and special, the universe would do its damnedest to take it, and anything else good, away from you. Violently, if necessary. It was unfamiliar to Merlin, and didn’t sit well within him, even despite his own experiences growing up differently than others.

“Where d’you want me to begin, sir?”

“Start from when you came to.”

Eggsy spent the next hour debriefing fully with Merlin, describing his thought processes and choices, defending them when necessary and reevaluating some after he’d had a chance to see them with a critical eye. He’d not found anything in his bag that was marked as “necessary for return,” so he’d elected to bring the entire thing. This, according to Merlin, was the right answer to that particular quandary. The older man, when asked by Eggsy, also explained that while _he_ might have woken up and travelled absent his fellow recruits, the others might have had different experiences, thus the need for the “no killing the others” rule. He did manage to discover that it was Peter who had been returned to HQ and summarily dismissed. He’d made it two days before he’d almost killed himself by eating poisonous mushrooms somewhere in Spain; Merlin advised Eggsy to brush up on the classroom side of their survival training since idiocy wasn’t tolerated in Kingsman any more than it was in any agency.

Eggsy nodded thoughtfully at this, and posed more questions to Merlin as the thought of them. Soon, though, a beep from a monitor stole Merlin’s attention.

Eggsy remained for several minutes before a sanguine eye was turned his way and Merlin’s rumbling voice simply said, “Dismissed. Your dog is in your barracks room with the others. Since you’re back, any restrictions on your person from the mission are hereby nullified, so you can fly if and when you care to. Also, Galahad’s awake. Get your dog settled, take a shower, get dressed in your kit, and head down to medical. He wants to talk to you.”

“‘Arry’s awake?! Why didn’ you open with that?!”

“Because I’m mean.”

Eggsy had no response for this, so elected to remain silent as he nodded to Merlin and left. He all but flew to the barracks, and found JB sleeping lazily on Eggsy’s bed. His undignified position, on his back with his legs twitching furiously at dream-monsters and tongue lolling out of his mouth, made Eggsy nearly weep in relief. He scooped up the pup with both arms, the dog responding with a yelp and frantic licks to Eggsy’s face. The other recruits’ dogs took an interest in Eggsy, but were all trained well enough at this point to not rush the young man as he babied his own dog. After what Eggsy deemed still-not-enough time with JB, Eggsy rose and gathered his things to go shower.

He was still the only recruit back, and so he took his time with his grooming and shower routine. As excited as he was to see Harry awake, he knew rushing would only make him look like a foolish, lovesick young boy, not the kind of man he knew he should be for someone like Harry. He stopped at the in-house barber and got his hair trimmed better, and before he stepped into the shower, he went over every inch of his siren suit, inspecting it for tears or snags. Suitably appeased that it was in good order, Eggsy hit the showers.

Whatever soap they gave the recruits to use was perfunctory in its design; it had a neutral smell and though it got the job done, Eggsy found it rather drying. In the course of caring for Harry’s shaving and grooming needs over the past few months, he’d stolen the older man’s expensive and silky soap. It was a bar soap that felt like velvet on his skin, and left it feeling incredibly soft. It had been used enough that if there had been a maker’s mark stamped or cut into it, it was gone. Eggsy absolutely _loved_ what it did for his skin, and had used it enough that the bar had been whittled down to a small sliver he kept wrapped neatly in his washcloth. The first time he’d used it after he’d nicked it, Merlin gave him an arched eyebrow but said nothing. Eggsy had always thought it just smelled like Harry, even when he used it himself, and that overruled the sheer awkwardness he might have felt at the thought of using someone else’s used soap.

Now, though, Eggsy was stopped dumbly. He had opened the small kit he kept his toiletries in and removed the washcloth containing the small slice. Opening it, he had inhaled deeply and though the scent of Harry was there, it wasn’t the scent Eggsy noticed first. He’d been gone from HQ and Harry’s side long enough that the regular scents of the building had seemed stronger. This time, however, the scent was overwhelming.

_It was the same scent of tea and spice that clung to Harry like a cloak, and bore the unmistakable scent of something else that lingered in Eggsy’s memory like a ghost._

Eggsy took a heaving lungful of the lovely smell, nose buried into the bar and washcloth where the deepest notes still clung even after rinsing. He was idly berating himself for having missed it the first time he’d stolen the bar from Harry’s kit. The scent dissipated quickly, simply the top note of whatever oil blend used in the soap, so he forgave himself only slightly. It wouldn’t have been noticeable, he thought, underneath the scent of the medical wing and the oppressive stench of exercise that clung to the barracks like mildew clung to wet socks. Only with no one around to render the light note invisible could he tell it was there.

Eggsy washed the stress and grime of the week from his frame, slicking his hands over his body, trying to work in the pervasive scent into his flesh. It clung better to his wings, he’d noticed when he first began using it. He used all but the last, tiniest sliver to work the scent of soap and heat into his feathers, taking care to soap and stroke the mate-feathers almost lovingly. His head swam with memories of his childhood, the _heat-right-sunshine-warmth_ that had blazed that fateful night. He could smell the cologne of his memory as easily as he could smell the soap, and it was the same. The amber eyes and copper wings that had danced behind his eyes when he slept were equal parts memory and desire. It was one coalescing, overwhelming need. _Mate_. It wasn’t sexual, not entirely. It was formed from his very soul, the desire to find and protect and provide, and with each beat of his heart, he grew more and more sure that if he followed the threads of fate that emanated from his being, he’d find Harry Hart on the other end.

As he rinsed the suds from his frame, he felt what seemed to be an almost ghostly answer within him somewhere. It was as if his own simmering emotions had reacted to the soap’s scent, and _something else_ reacted to _him_.

It felt… odd. Good, but odd, like when he was a child and his gymnastics coach had gazed at him with an intense and penetrating stare. There was nothing overly sexual or arousing about the feeling, he noted, but it was almost… fond. As if whomever was in control of it was finding it vaguely humorous that Eggsy was so emotionally compromised by fucking soap that he’d touched his own mate-feathers just to ensure the scent clung there the most. Eggsy had no idea of how to actually respond to whatever this was, but felt himself suffuse with embarrassment at the thought of someone else feeling his growing internal obsession.

So, he pushed down the thoughts of emotions and mates and Harry and set about getting dried off and dressed. He combed his hair, now stylishly trimmed to be a more modern take on Harry’s own coif, and brushed his hands over his chest. He had brought his leather wing-straps, but for the first time in his life, it felt wrong to wear them. Resolutely, he set them aside and dressed without them. He tugged his arms through the armsceyes, and shrugged his wings through the tailored slits in the back of the suit. He deftly buttoned the suit once this was done and ran a hand down the front, smoothing any wrinkles that had dared to mar the fine fabric. Grabbing his father’s medal, he replaced it around his neck and tucked it safely beneath his undershirt.

He stared at himself in the now-replaced mirror in the back of the barracks. He looked at his reflection, and brought his wings high enough to see the golden feathers rise up behind him. _He_ would rise up, he thought, recalling Alain’s words. He would be worthy. Worthy of Kingsman, worthy of the name of Lancelot, but most of all, _he  would be worthy of Harry_. It had grown inside him over the weeks, he’d realized, the burning need to be seen as worthy to the older man. Mate or no, Harry’s opinion was the only one that mattered. Eggsy was almost certain now that he _was_ Harry’s, the memories still jumbled, but no less powerful.

He gathered JB, put him on a leash, and set off towards Medical and his Harry.

***

“…Then I suggest you make my alias somebody worth kidnapping.”

Harry’s flat, almost sarcastic tone brooked no arguments from Merlin, who recused himself from the room after that.

Eggsy watched Merlin leave with a smug grin on his features. It wasn’t every day that someone got a leg up on the technical genius, and this was Eggsy’s first so he counted it as especially damning to the older man’s pride.

“Now, what exactly am I to do with you?” Harry looked at Eggsy, who looked back at him with raised eyebrows.

“Sorry, what? You asked for me to be ‘ere.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of the fact, Eggsy. What I meant was, well.” Harry looked genuinely flustered, and Eggsy was nearly staggered by the slight flush creeping its way down Harry’s neck and under the red robe he wore over his drawn wings and body.

“Yes, Harry?” Eggsy knew he was being just a little over the top when he used his breathy posh voice to respond, but given the flushed reaction Harry had, it was well worth it. The man’s eyes darted about and he looked incredibly guilty about something.

“I… thank you.”

Eggsy pulled a face and asked, “For what, exactly?”

Harry sighed and looked at Eggsy with an expression that was nearly unreadable to the younger man.

“For keeping me company while I was asleep. Merlin informed me you’d taken quite the vigil at my bedside. Though I must say, I never expected you to go so far as to shave me.”

“Yeah well, you wasn’ exactly in any shape to do it, ‘Arry. Plus now I know ‘ow to do it, so I can get me own set and be a proper James Bond about it, yeah?”

“Quite right,” Harry responded fondly. They stood looking at the other for a moment longer, before Harry turned to continue gathering his meager belongings.

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Yes, of course, Eggsy.” Harry moved to face his young protege.

“Merlin never touched on it, but does Kingsman let you ‘ave mates? Only I saw Percival havin’ white streaks, yeah? An’ me dad and mum were mates before ‘e decided to join up.”

Harry looked thoughtful, and just a little bit more interested in the question than Eggsy had thought he might be.

“There’s no rule against it explicitly, of course. It’s not exactly something one has any control over. But there have been very few agents who have had mates. Percival was a special case because his mate was an agent as well.”

“Lancelot?”

“Just so. I think the last agent to have a mate apart from Percival was the now-Arthur. Though his wife passed away a few years ago, I’m afraid.”

“An’ you.”

“Pardon?” Harry looked genuinely confused at Eggsy.

“You’ve got a mate, yeah?” Eggsy motioned to the golden tips of Harry’s coppery wings, knowing how rude it was considered to be among Pinnacle-flock and not particularly caring. “Them’s mate-feathers, innit?”

“Oh! No, I’m afraid they’re not. I’ve always had them. Some sort of injury or sunburn from when I was a child, I think. I’m not exactly clear. But to the best of my knowledge, they’re not mate-feathers. Free and unattached.”

Harry’s bittersweet smile made Eggsy want to vomit. He’d never felt such devastation from just a few basic words. Not even the knowledge that his father was dead and gone had hit him so harshly.

“Now Eggsy, while I’d dearly love to spend more time catching up on your training, I really do have things I need to attend to. This Professor Arnold situation isn’t going to sort itself out, I’m afraid.”

With that, Harry swept from the room, unaware or uncaring of the smoking ruins of a man he had left inside.

It struck Eggsy like a physical blow, the pain of Harry’s rejection. He couldn’t catch his breath, and he was sure the clenching in his chest meant he was dying. It felt like his fire had been drenched in ice water, sputtering and falling so low that there was nothing but damp and rot and decay and filth where his heart lay.

He’d heard about one sided bonds, those caused by terrible rejection of the metaphysical; everyone had. It was the stuff of dark and terrible campfire tales, legends of men made monsters by the shards of their hearts turning inwards even as they dropped their feathers of color and took on the wings of ravens. There’d even been some sort of scientific inquiry into the phenomena, the cause of such gross and terrible indecency within something so sacred. All it managed to find was that those who suffered the rejection of a mate before the bond was finalized were irrevocably torn by it; their wings turned black and oily, matching the ravens and crows and other carrion birds that fed upon the dead.

There had never been a single known instance of a mate-bond returning once denied. And though the heartbreak people felt at the loss of a beloved mate was difficult, it was nothing to be borne on the same level of despair that bond-torn people suffered.

Eggsy could feel nothing. There were no sobs, no wracking shudders. Just the calm and ice-like clarity that he wasn’t Harry’s. _He wasn’t worthy_.

This wasn’t a fairy story. He was no swan-king; Harry was not his prince or his knight or his beloved. Eggsy was the lost little duckling, but there was no lake of swans waiting for him at the end of this story.

This wasn’t that kind of story, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: thoughts of self-loathing, references to past abuse, general emotional whump


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drink your tears and use them to water my poisonous garden of angst. Also, everybody needs a little tiny Sherlock reference in their life, even these blockheads. This chapter hit roughly 17k words, so yeah. Beast Mode activated. Also smut!
> 
> The cologne Harry wears is "Vétiver Fatal" from atelier cologne.
> 
> As usual, check the rating/tags. Some things have been added. Warnings at the end.

Eggsy lost his first golden feather on the way to the nightclub they’d been assigned to infiltrate.

 _“It’s the beginning of the end,”_ he thought to himself as he stared at the offending thing.

_“Fucking figures.”_

***

The other recruits had come back from the mission alive and well, but only he, Roxy, and Charlie had been able to make it back to HQ within the time constraints, so the others were sent home. They’d spent the next several weeks learning advanced interrogation techniques, which was a lesson that none of them wanted to repeat. Each had been selected to undergo training alongside a Kingsman agent, but the method of training was brutal: they were interrogating their fellow recruits. Eggsy had it the easiest in some ways; he was now utterly incapable of genuine emotion that wasn’t despair. He kept _that_ locked so tightly in his heart that he simply _existed_ , his smiles and grins as false as the words that spilled from his mouth when Harry or Roxy questioned him about how his days were going. His soul and heart weren’t what Kingsman needed; his body was. And he needed Kingsman to make sure that Daisy and his mum didn’t have to live the life they’d been living, so he became as ice and moved on.

He watched as Roxy grabbed the back of Charlie’s head and repeatedly dunked it in a filthy bathtub of water, vomit, and anything else Charlie might have added to the brackish brew. He stood dispassionately beside Merlin and muttered notes to himself, “…needs a firmer ‘and on the back of ‘is ‘ead…” or “…shouldn’ be promising nothin’, just get the information and go…”

Merlin’s notes reflected much the same as Eggsy’s absentminded evaluations and so before it was his turn to interrogate Roxy, the older man asked, “Have you done this sort of thing before, Eggsy? In the Marines, perhaps?”

“Not at all, sir. Just a lifetime of dealin’ with people who know ‘ow to get shit from you, yeah?” Eggsy’s tone was even, almost bored, but there was a distinct lack in it that made Merlin purse his lips minutely. The older man made a note about something and continued monitoring Roxy and Kay take down Charlie a peg or two.

The information they were told to retrieve was unknown to the interrogating recruit, and they in turn were given a specific set of nonsensical information as theirs to guard from their interrogators. Eggsy watched as Charlie resisted and resisted, and when time was called he cracked the smuggest grin around his bloodied mouth and stood up nearly victorious. Roxy fumed silently, but said nothing. Kay leaned down and said something to her, and she nodded. The three of them left the room, and Charlie was seen to by a group of medics. Roxy sat down on a bench nearer to the door, knowing her turn was next. Eggsy, however, simply remained standing and waiting.

Kay approached him and raised an eyebrow.

“Are you ready, Unwin?”

“As I’ll ever be, sir, “ Eggsy croaked. His voice was rough from disuse, though Kay’s expression told him that the older knight seemed to think it was from having seen the previous session. Eggsy didn’t bother to correct him. Better they think he was shy of psychological torture than to realize that he was no longer whole.

Kay led the way into the room, yanking Roxy sharply by her arm. She yelped as she was slammed down into the metal chair that stood in the center of the room. Kay locked her in with handcuffs and took a moment to say something to Roxy, clapping a hand on her shoulder at her nod. Kay turned and came to Eggsy’s side. He spoke to the younger man in a low, calm voice and as he spoke he hand Eggsy the handcuff key.

“Alright lad, this is your show. You’ve had the lessons you need. You’ve got 25 minutes to make her talk. Merlin will stop the session once you’ve either gotten the requested data or once the time limit is reached. You can’t kill her and you can’t seriously injure her, and you sure as hell can’t sexually assault her. You can threaten it; it works well on female prisoners or on alpha-male type prisoners when presented with a male interrogator. Remember your training and you’ll be fine.”

Eggsy nodded absently and stood before Roxy. He took a deep breath and crouched in front of her.

“You know why you’re ‘ere, yeah? And you know what I’m going to do to you.”

She nodded, her eyes meeting Eggsy’s in firm defiance.

“If you tell me what we need to know, I won’ ‘urt you. They’ll unlock that door,” Eggsy pointed to it, making sure Roxy’s eyes at least flickered to it in acknowledgement, “an’ they’ll let you walk right on out. You ‘ear me?”

She nodded again.

“You gonna talk?”

Roxy shook her head no and straightened her shoulders as much as she could. Her rosy-gold wings flickered in fear behind her, though her face betrayed none.

“Right. Figured you wouldn’. When you get tired of it, you tell me what I need to ‘ear, and I’ll stop.”

Roxy eyed him in suspicious confusion, and Eggsy moved behind her, out of her range of vision.

“I’m gonna count ‘em for you, just like I ‘ad ‘em counted for me.”

Roxy’s eyes widened as the reality of what Eggsy was going to do hit her, and she gasped a bit, pumping her wings erratically. Even Kay, who had until now been leaning against a side table covered with the tools of the torture trade, looked vaguely concerned and horrified at the implication of Eggsy’s words.

“One.”

Roxy gasped as a stinging pain and feeling of utter revulsion struck her from the dead center of her back, right where her wings grew from her body. A small rosy pinfeather fell in front of her face to land almost comedically on her lap.

“Two.”

Another sting, another wave of wrong, another feather.

“Three.”

Roxy whimpered as the feather plucked was taken at a wrong angle. When this one fell against her knees, she saw the bottom of the quill bore a drop of blood. Her eyes snapped up to Kay’s face, and though she saw a very real horror in his eyes, he said nothing. His wings, a soft and shimmering brass color were trembling behind him as he watched.

“Four.”

“Five.”

“Six.”

By “seven,” Roxy was visibly weeping.

By “twelve,” she was crying out in pain and violation.

By “fifteen,” she was begging Kay, Eggsy, Merlin, _anyone_ , please make it stop.

By “seventeen,” she had broken.

As soon as she started shouting and sobbing the “information,” Eggsy left her alone, defiantly unlocking her hands from the handcuffs with the key he’d palmed from Kay earlier.

Roxy fell out of the chair, scattering the small pile of rosy-gold feathers across the floor alongside her slumped and weeping body. None of the feathers were large; each was a secondary covert that would grow back rather quickly. But the damage was done, both physically and psychologically.

And Eggsy felt none of the remorse he logically knew he should.

Kay helped Roxy up as medics rushed the room, all but carrying her out in their hands. Their horrified faces didn’t shake Eggsy, though he knew dimply that they should. The older knight turned to Eggsy and looked at him with something akin to piteous respect and took a shuddering breath.

“How- how many did you…?”

“46,” Eggsy replied numbly.

“Jesus fucking Christ. Who… who, why?” Kay stuttered over his words in shock.

“Don’ matter. Got to 46, an’ ‘e decided it weren’ worth the effort no more.”

Kay visibly composed himself, though Eggsy could see the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes from stress.

“Right, well let’s head out so they can reset the room. You’re up next.”

Merlin’s face was white and drawn as Eggsy passed him to sit calmly on the same bench Roxy had sat on previously. Charlie was nowhere to be seen initially, coming in through the door the medics had hauled Roxy through towards the infirmary. He looked confused and when he saw Eggsy, he sneered.

“The fuck did you do to her?”

Eggsy didn’t reply, he simply shot Charlie a faked grin and gave him a two-fingered salute. Charlie scoffed at him and headed towards the room. All too soon, Kay was yanking Eggsy off the bench, and he found himself in the proverbial hot seat. The knight gave Eggsy the same sort of pep talk he’d given Roxy, all “remember your training” and “we’ll stop things if they get too bad.” Eggsy didn’t mind. He was used to shutting down for a beating. Somethings you had to learn the hard way, and this was one of them. He’d been honestly surprised that Charlie had managed to hold out, but given Roxy’s hesitation at inflicting real pain, he figured Charlie had figured out some method of distancing himself from the situation.

Charlie advanced on him, the grin on his face reminiscent of the ones he saw not from his stepfather, but the “friends” he’d bring home for Eggsy to entertain. Eggsy sighed internally, already knowing how this would go. He’d been down this road before.

True to form, Charlie began by simply laying into Eggsy with his fists and hands. He did shock Eggsy a bit when he went for some of the more vicious looking knives, but all the recruit did was wave it about, _nearly_ cutting Eggsy. Throughout Charlie’s “torture,” Eggsy remained silent. He was well-used to talking a beating quietly, and there was nothing Charlie had done so far to warrant a response.

It was honestly pathetic, Eggsy mused as a gob of spittle shot from Charlie’s mouth to land somewhere on Eggsy’s chest. The recruit before him was letting his anger override his training. Eggsy even managed to shoot Kay a look and arch an eyebrow at him while the older man monitored; the returned look of amused resignation made Eggsy crack what was very possibly the first real small smile he’d shown since Harry had left him behind.

“Oh, you think something’s funny, you Nadir whore? If you’re so _bored,_ I’m sure I can give you something more productive to do.” Charlie leered, falsely Eggsy noted, and rubbed his hand across his crotch.

“Got a nice job or two for you to put your mouth to if you don’t feel like talking. Want to open up and find out what a _real_ Pinnacle feels like? I’m sure your fucking mate’s just as low-born and filthy as you are, you cuckoo slut. Oh don’t think our cohort didn’t find out all about your _previous employment_. Bet you suck cock like a champ.”

Charlie came closer to Eggsy, and smacked his face sharply. Eggsy grinned through bloody teeth and began working his hands in the handcuffs. They weren’t top quality, and frankly Eggsy felt insulted that they thought he could be kept bound by something so mundane.

“Bet that’s how you got that gutter-fucking queer Hart to let you in. Dropped right to your knees and blew the fucking faggot right in whatever alley he picked you up in an-“

Charlie’s face snapped back and he hit the ground unconscious. Eggsy shook his now-free hand and rubbed at a small spot on his knuckles that might bruise from Charlie’s cheekbone.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Eggsy nodded to Kay, who looked faintly impressed. “Didn’ figure you guys would ‘ave put us in such weak restraints if you’d not wanted somebody to try an’ escape from them.”

“Very good, Unwin. Need to get your thumb joints checked out?”

“Nah. Done it enough, ‘aven’ I?” Eggsy shot a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes to the two-way mirror that Merlin and who-knows-who-else was watching through.

“Well done, Eggsy,” Merlin’s voice floated from the speakers mounted on the walls of the small room. “Though did you really have to knock him out?”

“Start shit, get ‘it.” Eggsy shrugged and looked to Kay again. “We done?”

“Yep. Good job. Have the medics check out your wrists for any pulled ligaments; I know how those can crop up after a handcuffing all too well.”

“Thanks, mate.”

Eggsy left the room and stopped.

Harry stood behind Merlin, his wings alert and poised, the man’s eyes following Eggsy.

“Oh. ‘Arry. Sorry you ‘ad to listen to that rot ‘bout ‘ow you found me…” Eggsy’s resolve to not feel anything shuddered as the desperate need to cry began to rise within him as it always did when he saw Harry Hart anymore. He swallowed thickly, trying to regain his composure.

“Well, I rather think that would have been an entirely different sort of fight at the pub than the one I recall, so no harm done. Well done. Sexual torture, or even the threat of it isn’t something that many hold steady throughout, even with training.” Harry’s voice betrayed nothing, though if he’d been there long enough to hear Charlie try scaring him through sexual intimidation, Eggsy knew he’d heard all about his own “previous employment” as Charlie had put it. Still, Eggsy refused to feel bad for hitting the stupid git. It wasn’t the reminder of his own sordid past that made him strike out, but rather the slight to Harry that Charlie had offered.

“Yeah. Weren’ nothing I ‘aven’ ‘eard before,” Eggsy muttered, keeping his eyes downcast.

“Ah.” Harry sounded almost _angry_ , though Eggsy had no idea why he should be. Eggsy looked at him and felt the confusion creeping onto his face. He flicked his eyes to Merlin questioningly but the Scottish man remained impassive.

“Right. Uh, d’you need me for anythin’ else, Merlin?”

“No, lad. Head down and get your wrists looked at then the day is yours. We’ve got a different sort of test this weekend, so be sure to throughly study the files on your training tablet.”

“Thanks, sir. Later, ‘Arry.” Eggsy waved half-heartedly and headed to the infirmary.

***

The studying, is turned out, was something needn’t have bothered with. Neuro-Linguistic Programming, or “chattin’ up birds what look easy, yeah” as Eggsy had phrased it, was something that came easily to Eggsy. Or, at least, _it used to_. Now, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to muster the emotional connection to do so. But Eggsy was nothing if not resourceful. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to suck it up and lure in a john, and though he was on the cusp of a life far better than he could have ever imagined, he still secretly thought it wouldn’t be the last time he’d have to sell himself for rent money either.

‘ _Though,_ ’ he thought as he got dressed for the evening, ‘ _whoring myself out for Kingsman was a hell of a lot better than whoring himself out for Dean. Better pay, as well._ ’

He kept his wings out, the gold of the feathers matching the gold on his frankly awful-looking track jacket. He’d bought it knowing full well it was the single-most garish thing in the store at the time, but it was the first thing he’d ever bought with money not earned on his knees, and was damned proud of the fact. So, despite the fact that he wasn’t really a person on the inside anymore, he still pasted a saucy grin on his face and sauntered to the nightclub alongside an equally as excited-looking Charlie and Roxy.

Roxy hadn’t really spoken to him apart from polite questions or comments regarding training and the like since the counter-torture training, and though Eggsy didn’t blame her in the slightest for it, it did feel as though one more avenue of some emotional contact had been cut off. He tried to shake it off as the days and weeks went by, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his emotional turmoil under wraps. He promised himself that he would have a proper mental breakdown once he was Lancelot, but that day seemed ever-distant.

The trio stood in the much shorter “on the list” line, simply waiting their turn to flash obviously false IDs at the door bouncer, when it happened. He felt a slight itch on one of his wings and flicked it carelessly.

Roxy stopped and looked at Eggsy with an incredibly confused look and said, “Are… are you molting?” She looked vaguely embarrassed to be asking, since molting was generally only done in severe sickness or injury when one’s wings required a full set of new feathers, and always in private.

“What?” Eggsy looked askance at her, the sudden pooling of misery in his gut not showing on his face.

Roxy knelt down and picked up a single, solitary feather. A golden feather.

Eggsy sucked in a breath and grasped it with a shaking hand.

“Must’ve scrubbed too ‘ard in the showers, yeah?” he offered lamely, knowing the true reason to be something far more sinister. He wasn’t surprised that it was finally happening; Eggsy had expected his wings to lose their color far sooner than they had. It had taken several weeks for this first feather to fall instead of the expected days. He slid the feather into the inner pocket of his jacket, determined to keep it as a reminder that once he had something worthwhile about him.

Roxy gave him a look that said she didn’t entirely believe him, but let the matter lie.

They entered the club, the pounding music and general atmosphere one Eggsy was familiar with from his days as a pro. The stench of alcohol, sex, and desperation was the same in any club, regardless of the cover charge. Every flock had them, places to eat, drink, fuck, and do any drug under the sun that would let you move beyond whatever ailed you. Generally, mated people weren’t allowed into clubs like this without their mates, since they offered nothing in the way of sexual companionship. Their mate-bonds wouldn’t allow it. Eggsy knew this, and so he did what he always had to do when he went “job hunting” in places like these: he’d dyed his copper feathers golden with a temporary spray. Designed primarily for costumes or Halloween, the spray let him have a few hours of non-mated wings, though the bond (muted and shattered as it was) was never really dissolvable. but it allowed the impression of being on the prowl, and it meant Eggsy received no resistance to entering the place.

Finding the girl they were meant to seduce was easy; she had wings the color of Charlie’s, a bright silver that had glittering and sparkling gemstones studded throughout. If they were fake, Eggsy would eat his hat. Girls like that used diamonds like a fledgling might use glitter on a Girl Guides’ poster project. The practice was common among wealthy young Pinnacle girls, showcasing their wealth and drawing attention to the fact that they were blessed with wings that blinded others on sunny days. It was classism at its worst, and the cost of that kind of afterthought-accessory would have fed half his estate for a month or more. It made Eggsy clench his jaw to see that their mark wasn’t the only one to have such adornments woven throughout their wings; even Roxy bore a few strands of rubies to accent the rosiness of her wings.

Pinnacle men tended to wear metallic accents in their wings, an aesthetic throwback to an ancient time when men wore metal in their wings to use offensively in combat. Charlie’s looked almost like some sort of fantasy-armor pauldron, all pokey bits and shine and none of the lethality that existed centuries prior. It made him look like an overgrown child, Eggsy fancied. Other men wore false feathers of different precious metals interwoven with their own real feathers, some having entire secondary wings constructed that fit around their shoulders. The entire concept disgusted Eggsy; it was a waste of money and materials, and all just to get high and laid.

He himself wore no accoutrements apart from his snapback, his medal, and his winged adidas. They were _his_ modern armor. He carried his wings behind him proudly, though he knew it to be false bravado. His shoes were a gift from his mother, one of the very few things he’d kept from Dean or his goons, and he only wore them for special occasions. He figured a honeypot counted towards this, though he had secretly been nursing a fantasy of tasteful oxfords intertwined with his leathery wings as their owners’ wings twisted around each other above….

Eggsy shook his head to clear the thought, and braced himself for the onslaught of emotional pain that accompanied thoughts of Harry. Predictably, it rose, and predictably, he forced it back into its ever-expanding box. Eggsy knew it was only a matter of time before he broke, but he promised himself that tonight was not that night.

Charlie found the girl first, starting off with some prattle about her eyes or some such nonsense. Eggsy knew Charlie was full of bullshit and that he’d take a while trying to “get the girl,” so he went in search of something to drink. This club was one of the nicest ones he’d been in, though his practiced eye caught sight of several young men that were eying him the way a john usually did. He took a flute of champagne from a tall gentleman with pinned wings and nodded in thanks. He raised his drink in a casual toast to one of the more visually appealing young men giving him the eye, and took a sip.

Instantly, he knew it was doctored. He hadn’t spent five years on his knees in and outside of clubs without knowing what an adulterated drink tasted like. He kept the drink with him, but played at sipping, rather than actually drinking any of it. He wondered whether this was part of the test or whether this was simply the coincidental reaction of being in a club like this. He watched Charlie strike out with Lady Sophie Montague-Herring and Roxy swooped in, blasting the other recruit with her Roxy-like overbearing personality. Eggsy loved the girl as a sister after all these months, but even he could admit she was a bit more of a Hermione than the Ginny she liked to pretend to be.

He wondered idly whether the mark was a ringer in the same way Amelia was. It would make sense, he figured, given the frankly dubious vibe the mission gave off otherwise. Eggsy knew that missions where they’d have to seduce people were possible; they’d been given redacted mission reports indicating just that to study. But this was a different scenario. This was just a young girl who, for all intents and purposes, had no bearing on anything Kingsman related. Her being a plant seemed to be the only way Eggsy figured they could reconcile the situation without actively encouraging morally dubious sex.

‘ _At least if she’s a plant,_ ’ he thought bitterly, ‘ _she’d be earning her whore’s money too.’_

Eggsy headed towards the bathroom, content to let Charlie and Roxy argue over the Lady Sophie for the time being. He wanted to get a breath of fresh air, move out of the cloying atmosphere of the hazy club, and forget that he was expected to perform for Kingsman the same way he’d been expected to perform for Dean. He made his way there, champagne clutched in his hand, and entered. There were a few other patrons inside, but Eggsy ignored them in favor of finding a private stall. The one he chose had a sink and mirror in one small corner and he leaned up against the sink after setting his glass down on the back of the commode. He stared at the poorly concealed circles under his eyes, the overly-stressed wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He was a mess, and his body reflected what he wasn’t allowing himself to feel.

He unzipped his jacket and reached into the interior pocket where he’d stashed the golden feather. He stared at it for longer than strictly necessary, and set it down on the edge of the sink. Shrugging his jacket off, he hung it up on the back of the graffiti-littered door, the hook shaking precariously. He raised his wings and sought out the missing spot. It didn’t take him long to find the space where he was missing a long primary feather. It was near the coppery tip of his left wing, and there was a dull sort of pain coming from the follicle that he could feel now that he focused on it. He brought his injured wing forward and rifled through the feathers, seeking the follicle. His hand found the warm flesh of his wing, and touched the reddened bump that once housed this piece of his soul.

Eggsy winced a bit at the pain, but felt a sharp prickling under the skin, as if the feather growing in to replace the missing one was almost ready to come in. He brought his other hand up and together they massaged the follicle, coaxing the tip of the new feather to peek through the inflamed skin. Eggsy worked it softly, pressing in and pulling just a bit to see the very tip of the feather. Despite knowing in his heart what he would find, it still stung Eggsy like an ice-covered snowball against tender pink skin when the barest tip of a nascent feather finally broke free, its inky black filament uncurling in the cool restroom air. He screwed his eyes closed, bile rising in his gorge, and fell back from the sink, landing uncomfortably against the rickety stall door. He leaned against it, staring at the hateful black spot until his feathers shifted to cover the tender area.

He looked at himself in the mirror and put his fist into it, splintering the image of a broken young man into a broken reflection to match. As he picked the glass out of his knuckles, he swallowed back on the nausea that filled him. It was becoming harder and harder to hide what was happening, and as sonar this feather finished growing in, he’d be unable to hide it any further. The thought that Roxy, Merlin, _Harry_ would see his shame and failure made tears pound against his eyelids, but he didn’t let them fall. He hadn’t cried when Dean plucked his feathers and forced him to put dinner on the table with his body. He hadn’t cried when Harry told him he had no mate. He’d only cried when Alain had told him he was worth something, and now that Eggsy knew that to be a bitter lie, he resented the tears he’d allowed to fall so gracelessly and carelessly. He couldn’t afford to be the naïve little duckling any more. He might not be a swan-king, but he was still a body that could serve a new master.

Eggsy looked at his hollow eyes once more in the shards that lay across the sink and floor, and nodded once, to himself. He picked up the golden feather and tucked it back into his jacket. He settled his jacket back on, zipped it, grabbed his champagne, and headed back out to face his new reality. Eggsy made a beeline for the bar and ordered a water; he wanted to be sure he stayed hydrated and sober for what was surely going to be the most vacuous sexual encounter he’d ever experienced.

As he waited, a hand hit his hip possessively and hot, beer-soured breath found itself against his ear; Eggsy turned his face a bit and felt lips brush his cheek as their owner spoke:

“Saw you eyeing me earlier. What’s a little dove like you doing in a place like this?”

Eggsy moved to take in his interloper; it was indeed the young man he’d toasted earlier. He was attractive in the same way Charlie was, all brash young pride and artful nonchalance. The boy stroked a manicured fingertip down Eggsy’s cheek and he felt the hand on his hip come around to cup his arse. His wings held arrow-like metal feathers clipped over real ones, the sterling silver of them wrapped around emerald-encrusted faux quills.

“Not meetin’ up with posh blokes like you, I’d imagine,” said Eggsy as he put on the fake persona he’d cultivated over the last few weeks like an ill-fitting suit coat. Though one part of him resisted the incursion of this foolish young man, the part of him that wanted to feel _something_ contemplated drowning the rest of his drink and forgetting about the night and the mission altogether. The crass young boy’s nest words drove the thought of submitting from Eggsy’s mind, however.

“Nonsense, darling. I could probably make you fly higher than anyone else in this place tonight. Come around to one of the back rooms with me and we’ll see how far you’ll go.” The boy shamelessly ground his erection into Eggsy’s backside in time with the thumping bass of the music. Eggsy sighed and twisted hard out of the boy’s grasp, bending his arm at an awkward and potentially injurious angle.

“Sorry, bruv. I ain’t your darlin’. I like ‘em well fit, older, and far more of a gentleman that you’ll ever be . An’ you just ain’t got that kind of experience, yeah?” Eggsy dropped the now-yelping boy’s arm, and moved away from the bar. He gave the bartender an apologetic nod, but the man waved it off with an approving smile and small duck of his head.

Eggsy made his way back to the divan where Charlie, Roxy, and the clearly uncomfortable Lady Montague-Herring were seated and vaulted over the side to take his seat.

“Is it just me or does this champagne taste a little bit funny?”

***

Passing out was not what he had intended for the night, but when he saw the others begin to experience the effects of the champagne’s drug, Eggsy had to play along. He felt himself be carried out, allowing himself to be completely relaxed even as large, neutral hands dragged him into what eh thought might be a Sprinter van.

' _Least I know she was a fucking plant,_ ' he thought idly, having heard the Lady Sophie begin chattering with who Eggsy knew to be Merlin over an overly-loud cellphone. He wasn’t given any specifics on what was happening, but he deduced that they were moving somewhere fairly far away from central London. The ride took almost an hour, and Eggsy lost track of the twists and turns they took about halfway through, trying but failing to memorize the route. He’d dared to crack an eye at one point and saw both Roxy and Charlie in a similarly unconscious state to the one he was pretending.

They were carried to some sort of wheeled tray or bed, and from there they were wheeled somewhere that Eggsy was sure was _down_. While he couldn’t put his finger on where, he knew the smell of the Tube when it greeted him, the scent of oil, metal, and vaguely stale urine meeting his nose. He fought the urge to wrinkle his nose, knowing the reaction would give away his wakefulness.

He felt Roxy get pulled away from him first. He had no idea what was happening, and the thought that Roxy might actually be in trouble was beginning to weigh on his mind. The scream of a train went by, and the clank-clank of the wheels against the rails made Eggsy’s adrenaline rise. He felt hands on him, and he tensed slightly.

“Unwin’s coming around. Let’s move.”

_Fucking Kay._

Eggsy relaxed as they carried him, knowing that whatever was coming was at least monitored by the Kingsmen. It did not, however, reassure him when he felt his wrists and ankles be bound to something solid and cold. He didn’t tug at the bonds, and for an instant, he had a vision of lying like this willingly for his mate.

_'Not your mate, Eggsy, get it together. He didn’t want you. You aren’t worth the risk. Why would he? Just look at you. Don’t need to be a fucking genius to see you ain’t his kind.'_

Eggsy’s thoughts cut off his vision spectacularly, and he grimaced, the pain in his breast almost physical. He immediately berated himself for moving, but judging by the weight of someone crunching along the gravel at his feet, his “coming to” was expected.

 _'Showtime,_ ' he thought to himself and opened his eyes. Eggsy took in the brickwork and the darkness, the man standing at his feet someone he hadn’t seen before. He was gaunt and tall, and was wearing a large jacket. In his gloved hand, he held a knife.

“Who the fuck are you? Where am I?!” Eggsy struggled at his bonds in show, allowing a small amount of the despair he felt to sink into his voice. He beat his wings in a show of nervousness.

The man leered at him and waggled the blade. “This knife can save your life,” he said, looking down the tunnel where the steady bright light of an oncoming train could be seen. The noise of its wheels wasn’t deafening, but it was getting much louder.

“Fuck!” Eggsy didn't need to fake the fear in his voice, though a small part of his mind still told him that somehow, somewhere Merlin was watching this, vigilant and able to stop things if they got too bad.

“My employer's got two questions for you, Eggsy. What the fuck is Kingsman? And who is Harry Hart?!”

“I do not know what the fuck that is!” Eggsy’s heart sank, the knowledge that they would use Harry against him leaving him breathless.

“Oh Eggsy, I just killed two of your friends because they gave me the same bullshit answer!” The man’s smile grew vicious and he motioned with the knife in a threatening manner.

“Just cut the fucking ropes, please!” Eggsy begged the man, though it wasn’t for his own life that he begged. Clarity struck him as surely as the oncoming train would that if he died, even with a denied bond between them, he’d hurt Harry as surely as he’d been hurt. And the one thing Eggsy refused to do was hurt those he loved.

“Eggsy, is the Kingsman worth dying for?!”

“FUCK YOU!” His roar of defiance was coupled with a furious pump of wings, rage filling them as surely as air would fill their feathers. The ropes strained under the pressure and the one holding his right hand snapped, though the left remained. This was not how he was going to die. This was not how he was going to hurt Harry. Eggsy pulled and pulled at the left rope

Eggsy’s body was jerked backwards and he watched at the train passed over his body, lights flashing as the wheels crossed at top speed, the noise deafening. He wrapped his wings around his body as best he could, shielding himself from the gravel and detritus that the train displaced into the pit. The train flew past as quickly as it had come, and Eggsy felt whatever pit he was in move upwards. The rails the train had travelled along receded back into some compartment, and he lay flush with the tracks once more.

Standing above him wasn’t some gaunt and terrible man; it was Harry. He wore a coat identical to the one the gaunt man wore, and he held the same penknife that the other man had threatened Eggsy with. But unlike the gaunt man, whose face held only contempt and violence, Harry’s face held pride.

“Congratulations.” Harry smiled down at Eggsy, who breathed in the sight of the man as if he were a dying man being offered water. Eggsy’s eyes, however, were not on Harry’s face. They were on his coppery wings, which arced behind Harry in a manner that Eggsy had seen before once or twice when he was a boy. It wasn’t pride that Harry’s wings betrayed.

No. Not pride.

_Love._

Eggsy blinked, his heart hammering in his chest, eyes unwilling to accept the face he was shown.

“Bloody well done.” The affection was unmistakeable in Harry’s voice.

Eggsy croaked in response, “How’d the others do?”

Harry smirked a bit and replied, “Roxy passed with flying colors. Charlie’s up next.”

The older man grinned down at the younger.

“Want to watch?”

Eggsy cracked a bit under the challenge coming from Harry’s voice, and cheekily answered, “yeah alright.”

Harry came forward and cut the left strap holding Eggsy down.

“Bloody impressive that you managed to actually break one of these things,” said Harry, motioning to the right hand strap with the blade. “Merlin was cursing up a storm. They’re supposed to be unbreakable; test thing from his geek squad. Either this one was faulty, or he’s going to grill you about tensile strength and wing strength for days.”

“Glas Tann, ‘Arry.”

“Pardon?” Harry looked down at Eggsy politely confused as he cut through the foot bindings.

“It’s called Glas Tann. Merlin’s thinktank. Morgana don’t take kindly to bein’ called a geek.” Eggsy smiled ruefully up at Harry, and the older man chuckled a bit and gave Eggsy a gaze that he could only describe as fond.

“The surprises never stop.” Harry held out his hand to Eggsy to help the lad to his feet.

Eggsy took it, the warmth of the man’s palm seeping through the kidskin glove. He even snuck a slight squeeze in as he hauled himself up, and shook his wings out to clear them of the debris and dust.

“Come along, Eggsy. Charlie is due out in just a moment.”

Eggsy looked at his mentor’s retreating back, the copper colored wings reaching back behind him as if to touch Eggsy without their owner’s knowledge or permission. Eggsy subconsciously reached a hand forward, but yanked it back scant centimeters from Harry’s golden wingtips. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, lest he accidentally brush up against the man’s wings and break down into the wreck that threatened to show itself on a daily basis.

They entered a service door that housed a control room not unlike the one Merlin used at HQ, and Eggsy saw Percival and Roxy, along with Merlin, inside. Percival was speaking quietly to Roxy who was nodding seriously, though she gave Eggsy a tight smile when she saw him.

“Well done, lad,” said Merlin, not turning from his seat. In front of him was either a very large, well hidden two-way mirror, or an incredibly life-like television monitor showing the tracks. Two burly agents, one of whom Eggsy recognized as Kay, and the other whom he did not know, were manhandling Charlie onto the tracks at the same point Eggsy had been tied upon. Eggsy heard a door open, and Arthur, the older man who ran Kingsman, entered. Percival and Roxy slipped out before the door shut.

“Mr. Unwin. Good job.” Arthur’s cultured voice reached Eggsy’s ears and he gave what he hoped was an earnest nod of thanks to the older man. His emotions were roiling like a boiling pot. He had no idea what Harry was playing at, and was so terribly tired of feeling miserable all the time that even pained confusion was a step up.

“Thank you sir. I hope to keep doing as well.” Eggsy tried to make his voice as cultured as he could, mimicking Harry’s accent rather well in his opinion.

Arthur’s grimacing moue of a smile made him think maybe he hadn’t done so well.

Eggsy turned back to the view in front of him. Harry and Merlin had been conversing quietly, and went silent as they all watched the tall, gaunt man take his place in front of Charlie’s prone form.

“Tristan,” said Harry, motioning sightly with his jaw to the man. “Best person we’ve got for blending in with a crowd. Man’s a genius with costuming and theatrical makeup. it’s where we found him, actually. He was up and coming at RADA after a tour with the Navy. Spent the entire last portion of his training hiding in plain sight around HQ dressed as one of Merlin’s techs. Nobody even realized that he was still here, and when the other final candidate in his group was convinced that he’d gotten the previous Tristan’s position, our man there came out of almost nowhere to give us all heart attacks. Just sat down in Tristan’s chair at the table and glared the other recruit out of the room.”

“What a day that was,” murmured Arthur, watching the young man on the tracks start to come to. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen. I’m needed in just a moment.”

Eggsy watched as Charlie awoke and heard Tristan hammer into him with a similar speech to the one Eggsy had gotten. Instead of Harry’s name, Tristan said “Chester King.” It made Eggsy feel a bit of relief to think that they were simply using the recruit’s sponsor’s name instead of it being a slight on their difficult relationship.

“Arthur’s real name?” Eggsy asked Harry, not taking his eyes off of the scene.

“Mmm. Never gets tired of reminding us that he’s ‘the King,’ as it were.” Harry’s voice was laced with derision.

“Not a fan?”

“Arthur is remarkably well-liked and very well skilled at his position within Kingsman. We all benefit from his guidance and leadership, especially given the precarious political climate these days, what with all of the disappearances and such.”

“Bruv, even I can tell that little speech were rehearsed as fuck.”

Merlin snorted in stifled laughter at Eggsy’s droll response to Harry’s equally droll remark.

“Yes, well.”

Their attention was taken as Charlie started spouting off about the organization, and both Merlin and Harry let out short bursts of laughter.

“Fucking traitor! Kay owes me 50 quid!” Merlin’s delight at Charlie’s failure was palpable, and he gladly started punching in something into his computer set up. Eggsy watched Harry move to the door and poke his head out, and from the hallway Percival’s usually quiet voice was heard letting loose a frankly terrifying cackle. Roxy’s soft snort of repressed laughter followed almost immediately. Harry looked back and motioned for Eggsy to follow him.

“Arthur’s going to have some words with Merlin before the next portion of your training commences. There’s nothing very fancy nearby, but there is a coffee shop. Shall we get a cup of tea while we wait? Shouldn’t be more than an hour or so.”

“Sounds brill, mate.”

“Excellent. Perhaps you can tell me why your shoes have wings on them.”

“Right.”

“Come along, Eggsy!”

The tea was vile, and Harry took little offense when Eggsy said as much and returned to the counter to retrieve two bottles of sparkling mineral water. As he sipped his, Eggsy was content to listen to Harry talk about his own loyalty trial when _he_ was a Kingsman initiate. The terminal they had found at the end of the Tube tunnel was mostly deserted, only the partiers and drunks making their way to the trains at this hour. Eggsy wasn’t even truly sure why the coffee shop was still open, but he figured it was worth it to them to stay up for the red-eye coffee drinkers who came through after midnight. Still, the place was deserted, and they found a table far enough away from the counter that Eggsy felt they had a relative amount of privacy.

“Tied to a train track is a rather new conceit, I’m afraid. When my group was being tested, there were four of us that had made it that far. We had a similar sort of seduction attempt first, but it wasn’t at a night club. The late eighties weren’t kind to the party scene, I’m afraid, so we had to make do with a cotillion. Less likely to accidentally get high and then murdered in an alleyway, at least. When we woke up we’d been paired off. They tied our hands together, my right hand to my fellow’s right hand. They had taped knives to our left hands and made us attack each other viciously when one pair declined knowing about the organization. The pair that wasn’t us managed to severely injure each other in the course of the evening. One of the poor sods lost an eye, I think.

“I was tied up with a fellow named Carson. We’d been friends, oddly enough, before Kingsman. Attended Eton together for a short time before he transferred to Heriot’s to be closer to family. Stayed in touch throughout university and though he continued on for more degrees, I enlisted in the Marines for a time. We both found ourselves in the same dingy barracks room with eight other people one night, and the rest was history.”

“Did you shank ‘im?” Eggsy asked, a bit afraid of the answer.

“Stab him? Good Lord, no. We were a bit smarter than the other pair and used our knives to free ourselves from the admittedly shoddy rope work they’d bound us with. We started to escape after making sure our compatriots weren’t dead. Damn near took out an agent together before they managed to get on the loudspeakers and inform us it was a test and we’d passed. Apparently the Merlin at the time hadn’t considered the idea that two recruits might work together and make a break for it.”

“So what ‘appened? Did you ‘ave to fight it out or somethin’?”

“Not at all. There were a few more tests, of course. However, Carson felt he’d be unable to accept the kind of ambiguous morality that came with being an active agent and declined to finish the tests. They named me Galahad, and that was that.”

“D’you still keep in touch with ‘im? Carson, I mean?”

“Of course, I see him nearly every day.” Harry cracked a mirthful smirk and his eyes dared Eggsy to deduce his meaning.

“What? You don’ mean _Merlin_ , do you?! ‘E was a recruit?!” Eggsy’s jaw dropped as he tried to reconcile the image of the misery-loving technical head with the kind of ruthless physicality required of a recruit.

“Quite. He’s rather more of a behind-the-scenes sort of fellow, but he’s downright vicious in a fight. You’d be hard pressed to think of a scenario where having him as your physical back up would be a detriment. Who do you think develops the physical tests and examinations? How else do you think he knows just how hard to push you all?”

“Get out. Merlin. Our Merlin. Our soft jumper wearing Merlin.” Eggsy took a sip of water, shaking his head in incredulity.

“Aye, lad. And if you dinnae want to get choked with my incredibly soft jumper, I’d shut your gob. If you’ve got something to say to me, you come over here and whisper it in my ear.” The man himself stood behind Eggsy, and Eggsy nearly choked on his bottled water at the sudden growling brogue behind him.

“Is it that time already?” asked Harry pleasantly.

“Aye. Come along.”

Eggsy took Harry’s empty water bottle and untouched “tea” to the rubbish bin, and drained the rest of his water in one long gulp. He noticed Harry’s eyes on him as he did this, but didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. He tossed his bottle away as well, and followed the duo back into the service tunnels that wended throughout London’s underground. They came to a small corridor that led to a tiled room, not unlike the one at the base of the tailor shop’s elevator shaft. Another bullet tram sat there, door opened, and both Percival and Roxy were inside waiting. The three entered the small tram, with Merlin and Harry immediately taking the two available seats, leaving Eggsy to sit  on the floor.

Roxy tried to offer her seat, but Eggsy winked at her, tucked in his wings, and sat down.

“S’not a problem, Rox. Trust me, a clean train floor ain’t the worst place I ever sat, yeah?” Eggsy shot her a playful look, and she smiled back at him a little less tightly than she had been for the past several days.

The trip was quickly over with, and within a half hour they were back at Merlin’s command center near the recruits’ barracks. They stood in a line facing the man, Harry and Percival flanking them. They watched the replay of their test, and Charlie’s failure.

“Galahad, Percival. Congratulations. Your candidates have reached the final stage of the testing process. As tradition allows, you now have 24 hours to spend with them. Eggsy, you should know, your father reached this point. From now on, there are no safety nets, understood? Good. Dismissed.” Merlin turned in dismissal, and both pairs left quickly.

“So, where to Eggsy?” Harry asked as they walked the hallways of HQ.

“What, like I get to choose?”

“Mmm. Indeed. It’s a bit past supper time, but I’m sure there’s a McDonald’s or a takeaway Chinese still open.” Harry checked his watch lazily as he spoke.

“Um, let me check on JB first, yeah?”

“Of course! Bring him along if you like. I’ve plenty of room.”

“What, like at your place?”

“Quite. I believe there are a few things I need to discuss with you before the final parts of the testing process begin, and frankly my memory foam mattress in the guest room is going to be far more comfortable than the ancient pallets they’ve got you all on in the barracks.”

Eggsy swallowed thickly, the thought of sleeping in Harry’s house overwhelming. Eggsy didn’t know what to make of this far more attentive Harry, given the way things were left after their ill-fated chat in the hospital room. Eggsy figured that it must be Harry being ignorant of the emotional hurricane he’d unleashed at the younger man, but that didn’t change the fact that it was setting his mind spinning.

“Um, yeah. All right. Just- just let me get ‘im.” Eggsy made an aborted motion in the vague direction of the barracks and all but fled Harry’s side in his haste.

He reached his barracks room in record time, gathering up JB before the pug was even fully awake and earning a malcontented “whumpf” from the poor dog. He made sure to pick up a spare siren suit and a set from his civilian gear that had been assembled for the recruits’ more covert training sessions. Eggsy made sure to grab his leash, and began making his way back to Harry’s side. He was nearly out of breath by the time he reached the older man, who was casually leaning against the wall in the hallway, looking like sin and something more sanguine as he watched Eggsy over the rim of his glasses.

“Shall we?” Harry asked Eggsy, quirking one eyebrow at the younger man.

“Yes Harry.” Eggsy clipped the leash to JB’s collar and set the little dog on the ground. The three of them walked outside, the cool night air feeling good against Eggsy’s heated skin. It was only mid-February but it was unseasonably warm all over the globe. Eggsy was happy about that, the need for a heavier winter parka having passed already. He wasn’t sure how pleased he’d be come August, but for now, it felt nice to have a cool wind blow against his cheeks.

Harry’s car was tasteful but expensive. It wasn’t anything particularly flashy, but a potential career criminal like Eggsy knew money when he saw it. He whistled low and ran a hand across the car’s sleek lines.

“Very nice, ‘Arry. Very nice.”

The older man smiled at Eggsy and unlocked the car with his key fob.

“Yes well, Kingsman’s perk package is something to be desired, after all.”

“Clearly.”

Eggsy settled JB in the dubiously-sized back seat and got in beside Harry’s left. The interior was soft leather and matte black accents.

“Normally I have a driver from Fleet Services take care of my transportation, but I find that every once in a while, it’s fun to go a little wild on your own, don’t you think?”

Eggsy stared at the older man with what he was sure was a completely dumbfounded expression. Harry took notice, smirked, and stepped on the pedal. Eggsy was nearly thrown out of the seat, his wings flicking outwards to try and arrest the motion as Harry shot the car forward like it was trying to launch itself into orbit. Eggsy scrambled to finish clicking on his seatbelt, and Harry drove the car like he was trying to wrap it around a tree in the most devastatingly controlled manner possible.

Eggsy felt alive in a way he hadn’t for weeks.

The drive to Harry’s mews house was speedy, but well worth it. The way Harry drove was all leonine grace and raw sexuality. He swept the car around curves and turns, punched it in and out of gears and all but stroked the gearshift as he maneuvered the vehicle. He drove the car the way Eggsy thought Harry would fly: controlled but for a yearning desire for adventurousness. He’d never seen the older man use his wings for more than flickering and fighting; Harry controlled his emotional responses almost as well as Eggsy did. But in a fight, Harry was practically lethal with his wings. The fight in the Black Price, which had left Eggsy achingly aroused and not a little bit confused, featured a man who used his wings like extra weapons. They buffeted and blocked, snapped around and struck precisely. The foolish metal artifices of the Pinnacle youth at the club was all flash, but Eggsy privately thought that the true warriors’ artifacts of that older time would be completely and beautifully used by his Harry.

 _‘Like a ballet of knives and teeth and feathers,’_ thought the young man suddenly. He smiled wanly to himself, trying to imagine what it would look like if _he_ were to learn to use his wings that viciously and precisely. One of their combat instructors had indicated that while it was a dead useful skill to know, one risked all sorts of injuries and issues if winged combat were used. It was apparently offered as an advanced technique to study, but only for full Kingsman agents and select staff; not recruits who might injure themselves or others with half-learned knowledge.

“Something amusing?” Harry’s tenor reached Eggsy, and he turned his head to face the older man.

“Just thinkin’ ‘bout that first fight I saw you in. Back at the pub, I mean. You were usin’ your wings to fight, yeah? Was wonderin’ where you learned that.”

“Ah. Now that’s a bit of a clusterfuck, actually. We were taught basic combat techniques of wing fighting when I was a recruit. In fact, it was just before they decided to stop instructing recruits in it. We lost a candidate to a broken wing; poor man never flew again as far as I recall. Another damaged his feathers and dropped out for the shame of having white feathers scarring his “plumage.” Harry’s disdainful treatment of the word made Eggsy smirk.

“Carson, Merlin that is, is rather skilled in it, as is Kay. Percival and agents his age and younger weren’t given it as recruits, so they were given the option of learning or not. Most elected not to, as it is a rather brutal form of combat. It is, you’ll find, considered to be… low class if I’m being honest. It’s seen as a form of barbarism that the Pinnacle-flock is above utilizing. What amazes me, however, is that if you look into the history of winged combat, you’ll find all sorts of legends and recounts of it being used by the nobility of the time. Chieftains combatted for the right to rule with their wings; knights supposedly used them in tourneys. There are even a few clear histories of early kings of England gaining their throne through winged combat, though they’re more likely to be copies of copies of manuscripts and histories than actual extant pieces. You’ll even find a few tales of Excalibur among them; that there was no sword, but rather a set of magnificent wing-blades worn by the King Arthur of legend.

“The most notable case was a duel fought between a Duke of England and a Duke of France, Burgundy to be specific. In 1336, there was a bit of a kerfuffle over a woman who had apparently given both men her promise of marriage. So they fought over her, bare handed and with bedecked wings. The English duke won, but just barely, and the French duke’s compatriots sent word of his loss and death to the king at the time, Philip VI. Coupled with an already tenuous situation with England, the duel helped push the two countries into the Hundred Years’ War.”

Harry gave Eggsy a dry look.

“It did not end well for anyone, frankly. But, it was recorded rather quickly in a set of Hours that the woman in question had commissioned once she returned to England with her now-husband.”

“Hours?” Eggsy looked confused.

“Ah. A book that collected the various prayers said at the different hours of the day among those of the Catholic faith. The prayers didn’t change, but the illuminations, illustrations really, changed from person to person. Books were much harder to come by, and commissioning one meant that you were rather wealthy. To have a book of Hours made meant you could essentially have the monks creating it draw whatever you wished inside. This particular book… well. The woman in question was a woman of rather unconventional tastes. Today the illuminations might be considered tame, but in 1336, they were quite scandalous. The duel, if I recall correctly, was painted beautifully, but both dukes were presented as fighting in the nude, with the duchess being rather pointedly attended to by both dukes’ squires.”

“Shit. I’ve got to get me a library card.”

“Quite.”

***

Harry’s house was… odd. It was more feminine than Eggsy would have bet, but at the same time, there was a pronounced feeling of holiness to it that he wouldn’t have pegged in an active agent’s life. Harry had taken Eggsy to his office where he’d shown off his trophy headlines and they’d talked a bit about what might be expected of Eggsy as a gentleman of Kingsman, up to and including the creation of the martinis they were nursing. Harry’s conversation turned to families, and Eggsy spent the better part of an hour talking animatedly about Daisy and her baby antics. Harry had a look of genuine joy on his face watching Eggsy blossom with happiness as he spoke about the young girl. The older man sobered a bit and asked Eggsy about his mother and Dean.

“The things Charlie said, the references to your past. Was there any truth to them? I’m afraid we didn’t keep very good track of your family after your father died. There are resources for the families of agents and staff, but at the time we woefully neglected to add recruits to that list.”

Eggsy figured Harry knew about his life prior to being a Kingsman recruit, so it caught him off guard to be questioned about it. He had to bite back the automatic defensiveness that threatened to rise and took a thoughtful breath instead.

“I was six and a half when you came to tell mum about dad. She took up with Dean right after I turned 8. ‘Spose ‘e was alright at first, tryin’ to be nice and givin’ me little treats like matchbox cars and penny candies. Didn’ last. Started with just beatin’ on me mum. Then is was gettin’ ‘er on drugs, booze, whatever was easiest. I knew ‘e was turnin’ ‘er out by the time I was 12 or so. After ‘e started smackin’ ‘er around, moved on to me, didn’ he. Was easier when I were a kid, I could just ‘ide in me room. As I got older, it got worse. Didn’ start workin’ with the crew until I were out of the Marines, though. Got ‘ome from that and mum was in a bad way. Whatever Dean ‘ad gotten ‘er ‘ooked on was doin’ a number on ‘er. My guess is that Dean’s _friends_ …” Eggsy all but spat the word out.

“My guess is that they quit bein’ willin’ to pay for me mum ‘cause she quit fightin’ back on the drugs. Dean beat me within an inch of my life and I took ‘er place as best I could.”

Eggsy didn’t look at Harry directly, focusing on a headline somewhere behind Harry’s left ear.

“Nothing too bad, just blowies in the alley, that sort of thing. Weren’ any proper kind of sex; nobody wanted to touch a barely-legal kid with mate-feathers and wrong wings. They was afraid I ‘ad some posh bastard as a mate who’d be able to tell through the bond what was ‘appenin’. Moved on to clubs about a year after, made more money. Unless Dean’s found it, I’ve got almost three thousand quid in a tin behind me ‘eadboard back at mum’s flat. That’s even my ‘take-‘ome pay’ after payin’ the rent and gettin’ Daisy her formula and diapers and the like. Told me mates Jamal and Ryan about it, in case they saw Dais’ needed somethin’ more, but I know they won’ touch it even if she does need somethin’. They’d just get it for ‘er and tell me to pay ‘em back in pints later. Good lads, they is.

“Started working jobs for Dean once ‘e moved up in whatever ‘enterprise’ ‘e was a part of. Never sold or ran drugs, but I’ve got a record a mile long, even discountin’ the peddlin’ charges from gettin’ picked up by a copper instead of a john. Most of the time it was me gettin’ grassed up by one of Dean’s goons; I’m no snitch and I’m too fuckin’ fast for the Met to collar me. Only got snatched proper once an’ that was for twistin’ me ankle on a bad roll from a balcony. I’d do jobs for Dean and when ‘e got too mean or too upset, I’d do ‘em for others ‘round the city. Light fingers, fast feet, and a willingness to take a shit cut just to keep workin’ made me pretty popular.”

Eggsy shrugged and shot Harry a rueful smile, his recounting of his own life clearly missing the darker aspects: the hunger, the fear, the emotional devastation that came from a broken and criminal home.

“It’s why I’m ‘ere. Why I ain’t got the time to fuck about and fail. Got Daisy to think of, and maybe me mum if there’s anythin’ left of ‘er to save. This is my shot, yeah? Get them somewhere safe, somewhere Dean an’ ‘is lot won’t come for ‘em. An’ even if they do, it’ll be more than a fair fuckin’ fight now, won’ it?”

Harry nodded somberly but said nothing. Eggsy fidgeted a bit, his soul already too far fallen for him to feel much shame about his past, or about Harry knowing it at all. The silence stretched between them until Eggsy couldn’t stand it anymore.

“What ‘bout you then, ‘Arry? This place seems a bit flowery, even for a fine gent like yourself.”

“It was my parents’ London residence. A bit of a downgrade from where I grew up, but I always enjoyed it here far more than the dusty country estate. Though I miss the horses.”

Eggsy shook his head incredulously.

“Shoulda fuckin’ known you was some kind of duke or somethin’.” The fondness in Eggsy’s voice wasn’t forced.

“Baron, actually. Minor gentry, but quite wealthy. That’s what happens when your ancestors do well in business and marry up. Don’t tell anyone, but rumor has it I had a grandmother with burgundy wings and a terrible habit of cleaning her own home despite the servants.” The sheer drollness of Harry’s words made Eggsy laugh so hard that JB began howling in concert with him from the back seat.

“You’re takin’ the fuckin’ piss. You? A fuckin’ noble. Like for real?”

“Indeed. And I’m _not_ the only Kingsman to hold a title of nobility. Your competitor Roxanne is the Lady Roxanne, and Percival is Lord Morton, son of the Earl of Ambly. Gareth, whom I don’t believe you’ve met, is the younger son of a duke. I am by no means the highest in precedence at the table, as it were.”

“Spose that means when we all sit at the table when this is done, I’ll be below the salt, yeah?”

Harry laughed.

“Only if you choose to be, my boy. Anyone who joins Kingsman as a full agent is given a knighthood in the highly select Order of Saint Uriel. Only Kingsman agents, a very minor number of MI-6 agents, and oddly enough some fellows down in Marylebone are granted entry, though it doesn’t do much besides assure the protocol fanatics that yes, we do have every right to be taking tea with the Queen. Several other countries bestow similar honors on Kingsman agents, though I believe the rules dictate that an agent may only accept an honor from his or her country of birth. Commonwealth nations may choose their honors if able to, though most select the British honor offered. You’ll be Sir Eggsy the Bold. Maybe Sir Eggsy the Brave. Sir Eggsy the Golden.” Harry smiled at Eggsy, and nodded gently to the young man’s wings which had spread out behind him in a lazy sprawl.

“More like Sir Eggsy the Black.” The words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them, his brain-to-mouth filter almost nonexistent in Harry’s incredibly distracting presence.

“Ah, er. Yes.” Harry sounded distraught even to Eggsy’s ears as he sputtered weakly. “I suppose we’d best discuss that at some point.”

Eggsy closed his eyes, swallowing hard enough to cut off his air for a moment. He stood from the chair in the corner of Harry’s office and took an aborted step forward, as if fleeing the room would allow him to flee his pain.

“N- nothin’ to discuss, bruv.” Even to himself, Eggsy’s voice sounded shaky. He bit the inside of lip until he tasted blood; now was not the time to succumb to his emotions no matter how much he wanted to.

“I rather think there is.”

Eggsy watched as Harry stood and came to rest against the front of his desk. He was no more than a step from Eggsy, but the distance between them could not have been greater. His copper wings were almost still, but there was a subtle twitch at the ends where the golden tips lay that made Eggsy think the older man might be just as emotionally compromised as he.

“Did you know that until 1988, they bugged the private residences of Kingsman agents? Well, at least the recording of audio from the time they could feasibly do it, that is. Carson and I, Merlin you know, we put a stop to it after he became Merlin properly. Spent the better part of a summer living together in a false homosexual relationship and making obscenely pornographic noises at all hours, all over the house here until Chester finally ordered the cessation of active recording out of sheer disgust. Not that we were actually doing anything, mind you, but we are both intensely private people and would prefer to _not_ have our private lives aired out among the laundry of the agency.

“Still, the agency kept trying to record its agents in various ways, up to and including keeping those damned glasses active, even if the agent who wears them has ostensibly set them to ‘off.’ Merlin has tried and failed to resolve that particular situation for nigh-on twenty years. Only managed it under that table in the last two. That’s why my glasses stream here, instead of the servers at HQ. Of course, they’re set to stream there too, but I’ve got the ability to shut off that feed and simply continue the recordings at home. The glasses never register the break in streaming, and so Merlin’s logs aren’t scrutinized too closely.”

Eggsy looked at Harry, completely baffled. His heart was hammering against his sternum, and Eggsy thought deliriously for a moment that it would be visible, like the old cartoons mocked.

“I’m telling you this because I think I’ve done something terrible and I don’t know how to fix it. It’s been very wise of you to refrain from discussing your mate overly much, wiser still to discourage the others from seeking that identity. HQ is the most openly monitored facility we have in Kingsman, with only the other major branches coming close. US HQ, the Cistern in Paris, that sort of thing. If… if I had given voice to this- to what we are-,” Harry cut himself off, his voice barely a hoarse whisper by the end. He swallowed and reached a trembling hand out, fingers hovering bare centimeters from Eggsy’s chin.

Finally speaking again, Harry’s voice shook as much as his hand did.

“They’d take you from me, Eggsy. They’d take you from me and I wouldn’t be able to bear it.”

It felt like a sucker punch directly to Eggsy’s soul. He sucked in a breath, but there was no way the oxygen would reach his brain; he was dead, surely. This wasn’t reality; he’d died on those tracks in the Underground. That was the only explanation for the spiraling hope that twined with crushing fear in his breast. He met Harry’s eyes, finally, and the pain he saw reflected back at him was uncompromisingly deep.

“I have known you as the better, more pure part of my shadowed soul for nearly twenty years, Eggsy Unwin. I gave you that small part of me not yet damaged by my work with only a medal and a broken life to pay for it. And then I denied it, denied it directly to your expressive and beautiful face and watched that spark of brightness I had felt in you all those years ago flicker and die. _I felt it die in you_ , and I did that to you and there is nothing I can say or do that will change that kind of cruelty. I cannot possibly ask your forgiveness, for there should be none, there is none that you could give to me for what I did was unforgivable. I’ve ruined your heart as surely as I ruined your life and-“

Harry found he could not finish his speech, for the young man crushed desperately to his mouth wouldn’t let him.

Harry’s hands came up to Eggsy’s back, clutching at the feathers nearest the young man’s back. It felt _incredible_. Eggsy moaned slightly against Harry’s mouth, but refused to stop devouring his lips.

“Eggsy…” groaned Harry. “Eggsy this- we need to talk.”

“No. Nothin’ more to be said. You want me, yeah?”

“I- of course I do. This half-formed connection has been the only thing keeping me sane for the last two decades.”

“Then that’s it. I ‘ope you didn' intend on goin’ nowhere tonight, because I ain’t leavin’ this place tomorrow without a full bond between us. M’not lettin’ anymore of me feathers drop.”

Harry looked at Eggsy slightly confused, and Eggsy hauled his wing forward, parting the golden feathers to reveal the small filaments of the inky pinfeather growing in. The look of devastation in Harry’s eyes made Eggsy tip forward and crush his mouth to his again.

“Probably just gonna get the one, yeah? And even if I don’ and I drop the full set, I still get you. M’gonna bond with you regardless.”

“My darling boy. Oh, Eggsy.” Harry tenderly stroked the spot where the feather had fallen from, his touch warm and lighting small trails of fire across Eggsy’s nerves. “Even if you do lose every last one of your golden wings, you’ll always be mine. I’ll always remember what I’ve done to you when I see this.”

“I’d rather you remember what comes after,” Eggsy said wryly.

Harry beamed down at him, and Eggsy felt arms encircle him tightly. He buried his head in Harry’s chest, the leather holsters like straps to hang on to, and breathed in the man’s scent. Large copper wings came over him and enfolded him and Eggsy melted. It was his deepest wish, to be buried in Harry’s wings. He stroked Harry’s wings with his own, slid the golden primary feathers in between Harry’s coppery ones, sighing deeply into the man’s chest.

“Eggsy. I need to know something before we move any further.” Harry moved his hands to Eggsy’s collarbones, laying them gently on either side of his long neck. Eggsy looked up at the man with a gaze so tender Harry wanted to weep for seeing it.

“Course. What d’you want to know?”

“If we do this, if we bond like this, fully… I’ll not let another person touch you and live. Mated agents don’t take missions where seduction or anything of the sort could happen. And I’m a terribly jealous and possessive man as it stands. Can you… can you live like that? Knowing I’ll never let you go?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Harry.” Eggsy laughed breathlessly and smiled up at the taller man.

“I mean it, Eggsy. Even if you hate me. Even if you feel smothered or are dying to leave the old bastard who trapped you to his side? I’m going to hit people for you, Eggsy. People who look too long at you when we’re out in town. I’ll keep you home from missions you should be able to go on for fear that someone would steal you from me, for your loveliness. I- I’d keep you from your mother and sister if I thought you’d be too far from me.”

“Little too ‘Fifty Shades’ for me there, ‘Arry. But I know what you mean. And I want you to trust me to always tell you when you’re bein’ a fuckin’ lunatic ‘bout things and then go do them anyway.”

“I suppose I can handle that. But I’d rather not have you at all than have you and lose you if you get tired of me.”

“I were ‘alf-gone on you as a boy. Why d’you think I touched your wings? I knew I wasn’ supposed to, and I felt like I needed to. I’ve always been yours. And that’ll never change, even when you’re so old I ‘ave to fly for you.”

Harry hugged the young man again, and nuzzled his head with his own chin. He chuckled into Eggsy’s hair, tickling his scalp.

“I’ll outfly you any day of the week, fledgling.”

“Yeah? Well I’ll let you fly _me_ right now over this desk.”

“No, Eggsy. When I have you, it will be in my bed.”

“Then take me there, you great berk.”

Harry all but carried Eggsy up the stairs. Their wings knocked pictures from the walls in their haste, and JB stopped at the bottom of the staircase, barking up at the confusing men. Harry threw Eggsy onto the bed and crawled over him, pinning the younger man between his hands and using his knees to keep Eggsy from wriggling.

Eggsy arched up into Harry’s body, kissing and nipping at the older man’s mouth and jaw. Harry sat back on his heels, the weight of his body pinning Eggsy at the thighs, and stared down at the desperate man beneath him. He ran shaking hands up Eggsy’s stomach, to the collar of his truly terrible polo, and ripped it down the center. Eggsy gasped and his hips jerked in response, but all Harry did in response was remove his gun holsters. He saw the desire flare in Eggsy’s green eyes as he watched the movement and smirked.

“I will take you apart, feather by feather, and I will put you back together again.”

Eggsy grinned up at him and said, “you sure about that, bruv?” before executing a flip that took Harry by surprise. He found himself on his back, his wings splayed behind him and the younger man squarely situated above his hips. Harry brought his hands up to Eggsy’s hips, rubbing his thumbs against the denim covering his lithe body from view.

Eggsy removed his torn polo, baring his freckled body to Harry’s eyes. He slid backwards off the bed, his wings flaring out to steady him, and removed his jeans with a roll of his hips. Harry sat up and watched with incredulity.

“Might not’ve fucked anyone, but I sure as fuck learned a few tricks in those clubs.”

“You… you’re a dream.”

Eggsy writhed against a rhythm only he could hear and bared the rest of his body to Harry with a deft hand. He moved his wings in concert with his hips, and it made Harry’s mouth go dry to see the younger man’s arousal echoed from cock to wing. Eggsy came back to the bed and straddled Harry with the same rolling rhythm. He grabbed Harry’s hands and placed them on his own hips and proceeded to grind against the older man. He ducked his face near Harry’s neck, inhaling that mind-boggling scent and let his wings move to stroke over the copper ones on the bed.

He ran his hands up Harry’s chest and began unbuttoning the crisp white shirt. He worked his hips in small circles against Harry’s obvious arousal as he finished with the buttons. Harry’s hands slid to cup Eggsy’s arse and he pulled the younger man flush to his body.

Eggsy stripped Harry’s dress shirt from his body, taking care to slide it off of the older man’s wings without tearing the delicate seams. His undershirt, however, became a casualty of war when Eggsy reached behind Harry, grabbed the collar of it at the nape of Harry’s neck and ripped it as soundly as Harry had ripped his. Chest to chest, they could feel the heat pouring off the other, and Harry could feel the slick head of Eggsy’s cock rub against his own stomach tantalizingly.

Harry was lean muscle and chocolate curls of hair to Eggsy’s lithe definition and sparseness. Eggsy normally had a small trail of auburn that led to the thatch of hair around his cock, but he had given himself plenty of time to shave before the “honeypot” mission, and was very nearly bare to Harry’s wandering fingers.

“Christ,” Harry breathed, touching the smooth skin he found there.He grasped Eggsy firmly in hand and stroked him once, twice, and more. Eggsy could feel the pooling slickness on Harry’s large hand smooth the way, and he rocked his hips into each loving stroke. Eggsy mouthed at Harry’s bared neck, the tensing of muscle there a target to the young man’s eyes. Harry’s other hand clenched Eggsy’s skin, and Eggsy could tell the moment when bruises began to bloom. He moaned wantonly at the pain that crossed with the pleasure of Harry’s strokes.

“Off, get your fuckin’ trousers off, Harry. Christ.” Eggsy panted against Harry’s shoulder, his hips snapping into the fist Harry had offered.

“I can’t very well take them off if you’re insistent upon remaining in my lap, Eggsy.” Harry chided gently, the sheer love in his voice nearly breaking Eggsy into pieces.

Eggsy scrambled off of Harry’s lap and watched with large eyes as the older man removed his remaining clothing. Eggsy though he was a practiced hand at it, given how elegantly Harry lifted his hips and slid out of his trousers and pants in one maneuver. Eggsy smiled a bit to see Harry toss the offending garments to the floor with no care as to their condition, but swallowed when presented with the full view of the older agent.

Harry’s cock was long, uncut, and resting almost demurely against his stomach in a nest of chocolate brown curls. It was reddened and weeping onto Harry’s stomach. Eggsy crawled up the bed to him, and buried his face into the older man’s stomach, inhaling the scent of cologne and cock. He licked a strip up the underside presented to him and Harry gasped in arousal. Eggsy took him in fully and worked him for several minutes. He had Harry groaning, and one of those large warm hangs threaded through Eggsy’s hair, tugging a bit at it.

“Eggsy. Love.” Harry’s hands brought Eggsy’s face up a bit to look him in the eye. “Believe me when I say I will use your mouth as viciously as the rest of you, but I want to feel you around me the first time. I’m not going to bond with you just any old time, you know.”

Eggsy grinned up at Harry, gave a final twisting suck and pulled off of Harry. His smile turned just a bit apprehensive, but Harry caught it.

“I just… I’ve never, you know. Anytime I was earnin’ it, I just used my mouth, yeah? I mean, I’ve seen porn and the like, I’m not goin’ into this blind or nothin’. Just. M’not sure how you want me.”

“Tonight I want you astride me. It’ll be easier for you to control things, and I have wanted to see you like that for far longer than I should have.”

Eggsy flushed at Harry’s stark words.

“D’you have slick? ‘Cause this would be a right fuckin’ tragedy without it.”

All Eggsy got from Harry was a small, pointed look at the nightstand and back at him. Eggsy flashed him a sunny grin and wormed across the bed to gather up the small bottle he found inside.

“Uh, condoms?”

“Haven’t needed them in, well quite a while. I’ve not had a lover of my own choosing since well, since you touched my wings. I’ve had a few seduction missions, but not any time recently. I’m afraid I’m rather unprepared, " Harry sounded both wistful and sheepish, a combination that made Eggsy’s nose scrunch in delight.

“S’not a problem, Harry. ‘Sides. We’re bondin’. Should be nothing between us anyway.”

“Are you quite sure? I can certainly pop around to a corner shop if you’d prefer.”

“Harry, if you don’ shove your fuckin’ cock inside me in the next ten minutes, I’m gonna die and then I’m gonna fuckin’ haunt you and get you all riled up and then leave before you finish.”

“Well. Wouldn’t want that, I’m sure.” Harry took the bottle from Eggsy and gave himself a liberal amount. The younger man draped himself across Harry’s lap, face down, as though he was to receive a spanking. Eggsy was no stranger to this much, at least. He’d known his mate was male, and had taught himself how to pleasure himself accordingly. But the feel of Harry’s fingers stroking his hole was something he could never have prepared for. Harry started with one, prepared for Eggsy to tighten and shy away. But when all the young man did was moan and push back against it, Harry stopped and looked him in the face.

“You’ve done this much before,” Harry said dryly.

“Course I ‘ave. ‘Ow else was I supposed to pretend you was fuckin’ me?”

Harry muttered under his breath and added a second finger. Eggsy was tighter against two, and Harry spent what felt like hours working him open and deep. Eggsy wailed when Harry hit his prostate, and started rocking back into the hand deep within him. Slowly and deliberately, he pulled his fingers nearly out and added a third.

“Fuck. Fuck Harry, yes. So fuckin’ good, Harry _please_!” Eggsy’s voice was wrecked, and his cock was jutting almost painfully into Harry’s thigh. Harry could feel the leaking head against his skin and fought the urge to thrust his own up and into Eggsy’s abdomen. He worked his hand back into Eggsy and resumed opening up his dear boy.

“‘Arry! Please, I’m ready. _Please_ , love,” Eggsy eventually cried out into the mattress under neath his head.

Harry removed his fingers slowly, the gaping hole he left a delightful visual reminder of what was to come. Eggsy got to his knees and looked at Harry.

“This will be easier if I move back against the headboard, sweetling,” Harry said, already scooting himself back. “Better leverage.”

Eggsy grinned and waited until Harry had settled himself in. Then he straddled the older man and ground against him once more. Harry’s hands found the bottle of discarded slick and wordlessly handed it to Eggsy. The younger man unsnapped the lid and dribbled a stream of it onto Harry’s cock, causing the man to hiss a bit. Eggsy stroked it into the man’s flesh and tossed the bottle in the vicinity of the floor.

“Want your wings around me, Harry,” Eggsy mumbled as he moved to climb into the man’s lap more fully.

“You’ll get them darling. Be patient.”

“Don’ want _patient_ , I want you.”

“Then get to work, you lazy, lovely thing.” Harry held his own cock and watched as Eggsy canted his hips back and forth over the head, _almost_ catching the uncovered head against the rim of his arse. At last, a rolling pass of Eggsy’s hips caught, and Harry pushed upwards just a small amount.

Eggsy moaned at the intrusion and changed his motions. He worked himself down onto Harry’s cock, taking a centimeter at a time, gasping as the head pressed firmly against his prostate before moving deeper within him. Eggsy seated himself fully and held himself still, relishing the feeling of fullness. Harry’s grip on his hips was like iron, and Eggsy knew he’d have bruises in the shape of Harry’s full hand before the night was done. He also knew he’d not mind.

Slowly, he moved. Just small circles of his hips at first, clenching around Harry’s cock and drawing out the most delicious gasps and groans from the older man. Eggsy’s wings were trembling with tension, flickering to and fro, his control over them shot. Harry’s weren’t faring much better, but he managed to lock them around Eggsy’s back, the wingtips touching the joint between wing and back. The firelike sensation drove Eggsy to rock up and almost off Harry, and then slam himself back down. It caused Harry’s wings to stroke the point where flesh turned into feather, and Eggsy needed more.

They moved together, Eggsy riding Harry while the older man pushed up against his thrusts. Eggsy’s neglected cock was red and slowly soaking Harry’s lap, and his wings pushed and railed against Harry’s. Harry bit into Eggsy’s neck and sucked bruises into the white skin he found there, taking satisfaction at the blooming marks that appeared almost instantly once he pulled off.

“M’not gonna last, Harry!” Eggsy cried to the ceiling, his long neck tilted towards Harry’s seeking lips. “Please!”

Harry grasped Eggsy by the shoulders and pushed him backwards, their wings fluttering against each other before Harry’s had to move out of the way of Eggsy’s pliant body. Harry pulled Eggsy’s leg up and around his waist and began thrusting into him viciously. The slap of sweaty skin was a music Harry hadn’t heard in a long time, and it was intoxicating when combined with the keening cries he wrought from Eggsy.

“Turn your head.”

Eggsy did so, burying as much of his face as he could into Harry’s blankets. The tendons of his neck were strained, and the necklace of bruises Harry had sucked into life was start against his pale skin. Harry bent over Eggsy and mouthed at a point near the back of Eggsy’s neck, just behind his ear. Harry was almost flush with Eggsy’s body, and the older man laid his wings around them like a fortress. He grasped Eggsy’s wrists and held the younger man to the bed and reared up enough to look him in the eye. Eggsy’s face was flushed and his eyes were glassy with lust and love.

Harry looked him in the eye and held very still over him. He used one hand to secure Eggsy’s wrists together above his head and drew the other to Eggsy’s neck, fingers almost playing with the freckles he found there.

_“I do claim thee, Gary Unwin as my Beloved. My nest is yours, my wings are yours. I will fly with thee for all my days.”_

The ancient rites of bonding were never used in the Nadir-flock. The Ascents only used them to be ironic, in the modern fashion. You never saw anyone younger than eighty sporting a claiming mark outside of the Pinnacle-flock. Among Pinnacles, it was more than just a twee phrase or a vintage throwback. It was a covenant, a promise. No law, ancient or new, could break a bond sealed with these words and a claim made with teeth. It was as Harry promised Eggsy earlier, swearing that he’d be unable to give the young man up. But the sealing of a bond with the words spoken for a thousand years and the mark of claiming was one tradition Harry refused to do away with.

With his pronouncement, Harry surged forwards, biting Eggsy harshly against his neck at just the spot he’d been nuzzling only moments prior. Eggsy wailed in both pain and joy, and spilled untouched between their bodies. Harry thrust a few times and joined Eggsy in climax, filling the young man with seed. He slumped to the side, still nestled within Eggsy’s body, their legs intertwined. The haze of lust between them was overshadowed by something warm splintering off within their souls, filling them as surely as Harry had filled Eggsy.

It curled low in Eggsy’s body, before suffusing him chest and wings with the same fiery joy he’d felt all those years ago touching Harry’s wings. By the trembling in Harry’s wings, Eggsy knew the older man was feeling much the same. Eggsy shakily brought one wing around and drew the coppery wing tip over Harry’s cheek. Harry smiled brokenly at Eggsy and repeated the motion with his own wing. They lay together for an eternity, stroking their feathers over faces, chests, lips, hands. Harry studied Eggsy’s face, only scant centimeters from his own and drew one wingtip between them. Eggsy let out a shuddering breath and did the same. Harry moved first, so gently Eggsy thought he’d missed it. Harry stroked the golden feathers of his mate’s wing with his own, and finally wove them with the matched mate-feathers of Eggsy’s wing.

The embers inside them roared to life and there was simply _love_ between them.

***

Sunlight beat down on Eggsy’s face, and the scent of cooking sausage awakened him more fully. He was sore and his body was aching in _all_ sorts of interesting places. But the pain and the tiredness dimmed under a veritable onslaught of emotions from the other side of his now-completed bond. Eggsy smiled to himself feeling Harry’s incredibly deep and abiding love for him, the sense of pride and completion he felt reflected back into his mind. Something crashed downstairs in the kitchen, and even as he heard Harry swearing in shock, he felt the flush of embarrassment through the bond, and he laughed aloud. The embarrassment deepened as Harry realized Eggsy was awake and slowly the emotions running freely between them settled into a more muted, shielded affection. Eggsy didn’t mind, having touched the endless well of ardor that Harry held for him. It was deep and it was dark and it was so incredibly full that Eggsy felt as if nothing could drain it away.

He stood, sucking in sharply at the twinges coming from his lower back. Eggsy stretched and went to the restroom for his morning ablutions. He stole Harry’s toothbrush, figuring that if they’d shared everything _else_ about them so far, a little minty spittle wouldn’t go amiss. He smirked to himself in the mirror, eyeballing the almost-black love bites and marks on his neck and chest. The claiming mark Harry had left on his nape was tender to the touch, and Eggsy resolved to have Harry take a closer look to ensure the older man hadn’t broken the skin in his fervor. Eggsy knew several sets of handprint-shaped bruises encircled his hips, reminders of a night well-spent. His hair was tousled in the way only a well-fucked morning could provide, and Eggsy knew he’d look thoroughly debauched if he even thought of leaving the house without a shower and at least a half hour spent on grooming.

He returned to the bedroom and grabbed Harry’s dress shirt, slipping it on and buttoning it halfway up. It fell to his thighs, the much-taller man’s torso longer than Eggsy’s own. He puttered downstairs, nearly tripping over JB at the bottom of the stairwell. Cursing the dog in mutters, Eggsy headed for the kitchen and dining area, the aroma of breakfast too alluring to resist.

Harry was in his red robe, his wings flapping about absently along with the muted beat of a song on the radio, and was flipping eggs onto two china plates as Eggsy entered. He padded to the man and wrapped to arms around him, followed by his wings. Eggsy could feel Harry’s amusement through the bond, though his tone was thoroughly dismissive.

“Ah, Eggsy. Good morning, dear one. I trust you slept well in my bed? I would have, but _someone_ decided the center of the mattress was his nest and sprawled rather thoroughly.”

“Yes, well. _Someone_ made rather sure that I wouldn’t be particularly comfortable in any other position, darling.” Eggsy’s copycat accent was almost perfect, though his smile could be heard throughout it.

“Quite,” Harry responded and sniffed theatrically. “You smell like a bordello, my dear boy. Not that I mind, of course. But I think the others mightn’t be too keen on your new cologne, ‘eau de Harry.’”

Eggsy chuckled a bit and released Harry.

“Speakin’ of,” Eggsy returned to his natural sound, too hungry to keep up the posh charade. “What is your scent, anyway? Been smellin’ it in my memory for almost 20 years, and I can’ place it.”

“Oh! It’s a blend of sandalwood, citrus, and vetiver. One of our American branches holds patents on all sorts of colognes, perfumes, and cosmetics. I’d say roughly half the funding for the entire international organization comes from those patents and sales of things created with them. A staffer in New York was given permission to modify some of our personal toiletry scents into salable colognes several years ago and sell them as an experiment in alternate funding sources. I’ve worn this particular blend for years, since well before I ever met you, and gave permission for her to recreate it. She added a tea-like note to her blend, but it smells remarkably similar.”

“Why the fuck do we ‘ave a cosmetic department in America?”

“Poisons, trackers in lipsticks, pheromones, truth serums, all sorts of spy gadgets can be used in or around cosmetics. Roxy is responsible for an entirely new line being developed, since she’s the first female recruit to make it this far into training. The likelihood of a female agent is a very real one and gentlemen, and ladies of course, are nothing if not prepared.”

“Huh. So do I get a special stink, then? If I pass?”

Harry gave Eggsy an amusedly reproachful look as he brought two plates piled with steaming food to the table. “Eggsy, honestly. ‘A special stink?’ I’ll be sure to let everyone know what you think of their hard work. And no, you don’t. You only get ‘a special stink’ if Potions Class likes you.”

“Shut the fuck up. _‘Potions Class?’_ ”

“You think you’re the only one to have read those books? Believe me, the jokes abounded among Merlin’s people for nearly a decade thanks to that woman.”

Eggsy laughed out loud, sat, and tucked into the eggs and sausage Harry had placed before him. They ate in peace, shooting each other moon-eyed glances the entire time. Harry had asked him the night before to go with him to the tailor shop and get fitted for a suit, and Eggsy was more than willing. He wanted to visit Pellinore again, and see if there was any help he could provide the elderly man.

Eggsy helped Harry with the dishes, the domesticity of the action giving the young man a feeling he’d rarely experienced before: contentment. It threatened to spill through the subtle shields both men had erected, and Eggsy cheekily let it as he dried their breakfast plates. Harry breathed a low chuckle bumping Eggsy with his hip lightly and the bond blazed between them with pure adoration as Eggsy turned his sunshine-filled smile on Harry.

Nothing could stop today from being the best day of Eggsy Unwin’s life….

***

…Except noticing the scar on Arthur’s neck as he handed Eggsy a gun and told him to shoot his dog.

***

He’d been summoned to Arthur’s study and instructed to bring JB with him. Eggsy shrugged off the odd request and gathered up his dog from the barracks where he’d retreated after he’d finished his fitting and shop-help with Pellinore. Harry had given him a slight brush of a wing tip against his own, more intimate than a kiss, and left after Valentine.

He knocked and poked his head in.

“Merlin said you wanted to see me, sir?”

“Ah, yes! Mr. Unwin. Please come in and have a seat. Be with you in just a moment.” Arthur’s response was friendly enough in tone, but Eggsy immediately took notice of a twitch of nervousness and not an inconsiderate amount of disgust that graced the Kingsman’s leader’s wings. They were the same rich golden as Eggsy’s, with prominently displayed metallic accents not unlike the ones Charlie wore to the nightclub previously. These, however, struck Eggsy as being entirely usable despite their flashiness. Eggsy also noted the solid stripe of bronze feathers that lined the older man’s wings in an almost dapple pattern. These feathers, however, were liberally tipped with the white of a lost mate. He recalled Harry saying that Arthur’s wife had died some years previously and felt a pang of sympathy for the man. Whiteness of that size on a mate’s feathers was romanticized to mean that there had been a depth of love between them that was unshakeable. Eggsy wasn’t sure whether this was fictionalized nonsense or bore a grain of truth, but he couldn’t see much white on his mother’s mate-feathers. He figured it was probably false though, and he knew for certain that she’d given everything there was that was good and loving about her to Lee.

Eggsy sat, holding JB’s leash in his right hand loosely. The dog knew to sit when Eggsy did, and did so with a happy lolling of his tongue. While he waited, Eggsy took in the large office. It was grand in the same way the rest of Kingsman was grand; it was all leather and fine whiskey, equal parts art and tradition woven into interior design. What stood out to Eggsy, however, was the small square tarp taped to what he knew was a highly expensive rug. He didn’t allow himself to react physically, but he knew that wasn’t a part of the usual decor in a posh place like this. He closed his eyes for just a moment and reached out to Harry through the bond. He wasn’t entirely sure how to do it, but he figured mentally saying the man’s name over and over would get the message across.

What he received back was a sort of _love-question-concern_ emotional blend.

Eggsy tried to visualize the tarp and send an image of that with a thought of _question-concern_ along with it. Several moments passed, and Eggsy started to wonder if Harry had ‘heard’ him, when Harry’s response came. _Love-reassurance-trust me_. Eggsy took a short breath and sent back _love-love-love_. He practically felt the laughter that shook Harry’s body, and he smiled down at JB.

Arthur finished whatever paperwork had his attention and stood up. Eggsy stood swiftly in response, and reseated himself when Arthur came over and took the seat opposite him.

“Would you mind having the pup sit just there?” Arthur motioned to a tarp on the floor.

Eggsy complied and unleashed JB, sending him with a point and a muttered command.

“Pretty dog. What’s his name?”

“JB,” Eggsy replied easily.

“As in James Bond?” Arthur’s congenial old man facade was belied by the annoyed twitch of his wings as he spoke to Eggsy.

“Ah, no sir.”

“Jason Bourne?”

“No, sir. Jack Bauer?”

“Oh, ha! Bravo!” The smile Arthur gave Eggsy didn’t quite reach his eyes, and his wings reflected that.

“It pains me to admit it, Eggsy, but I think that one day you might be as good a spy as many of them.”

Eggsy forced his wings to react in a flicker of surprise followed by a small flutter of pleasure, though he felt neither at Arthur’s praise. But he was too invested in the goings on of his training to cater any more than the bare minimum to a flightist old bastard like Arthur seemed to be. He did not, however, have to hide the small flick of shock that came when he saw the handgun pointed at him.

“Take it,” said Arthur, handing it to Eggsy. “Shoot the dog.”

Eggsy’s mouth fell open but no sound came from it. He closed it abruptly and looked at JB, then glanced back to Arthur. The elderly man had turned to face JB. It was then that he noticed it, the two inch long scar right behind Arthur's ear. The ripple of _fury-surprise-betrayal_ he shoved towards Harry subconsciously was responded to with almost immediate _reassurance-trust-trust-trust-love_. When he snapped out of his reverie from feeling Harry’s emotions, he pushed an image of the scar, and repeated the _fury-betrayal_. Eggsy was almost knocked to the floor with the full wave of _shock-anger-betrayal_ he got in kind from Harry. The exchange was quick, no longer than a few seconds, but it was enough to prompt Arthur to speak again, more sharply than before.

“Shoot the dog.”

Eggsy stood and paced with the gun in hand. He faced JB and swallowed hard.

“Dunno if this is allowed, but might I give ‘im a last little pat, sir?” Eggsy looked at Arthur and raised his eyebrows in query, making sure to move his wings in a determined, but upset manner.

“No.”

“Alright, sir.” Eggsy looked at the little pug on the tarp, raised the gun, and fired.

An echoing shot almost on the heels of Eggsy’s own sounded from a room next to his. Eggsy’s head snapped up and looked to the direction the sound came from and saw a door. He motioned for JB to stay, and moved to the door. He tested the handle, and when it opened, he looked in.

Roxy stood there, her wings quivering, but otherwise calm. Merlin stood with her, and both turned to see Eggsy as he opened to door.

“Eggsy, this can wait-“

“I killed Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: feels, homophobic slurs, torture (giving and receiving), morally ambiguous honeypot ('cause the whole "go seduce this chick at a club had kind of a creepy vibe to it IMO), ridiculously unsafe sex, 2 dudes doing butt stuff, whatever you want to tag the "shoot the dog" bit as.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took longer than usual to get out. I'd make some good excuses, but I have none because I am trash and I've spent the last few days going through all the Colin Firth and Mark Strong movies I could find on netflix.
> 
> Warnings at the end, as always.

Unfazed by Eggsy’s outburst, Merlin merely arched an eyebrow and cocked his head a bit. Roxy, however, gasped and covered her mouth with her free hand. Her poodle lay down on the tarp and began panting, whatever trauma it might have endured from the “shooting” long gone.

“What do you mean, ‘you killed Arthur?’” Merlin asked.

Eggsy came into the room with one hand up and the other on the gun he’d been given. He made a show of removing the clip and tossed that to Merlin. He set the gun down on the floor and stood back up, assuming a parade rest. Merlin examined the clip, and his face went very dark, very quickly.

“These are live fucking rounds, Eggsy.”

“Yes sir. Asked me to shoot my dog, and I saw ‘is neck. Arthur ‘as one of them scars we saw on Valentine’s assistant, sir. So I shot ‘im instead. I…” Eggsy’s breath hitched as though he were trying not to cry, and his eyes wouldn’t meet Merlin’s.

“I understand if you need to lock me up or somethin’. Just please keep an eye on JB? ‘Arry will probably take ‘im in, but…” Eggsy trailed off.

Merlin pocketed the clip and rubbed a weathered hand over his face, sighing.

“Let’s go take a look at him, lad, and we’ll see what needs to be done from there.”

“Can we wait for ‘Arry?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. He just boarded a flight to America. Arthur authorized it for the course of the investigation into Valentine.” As he spoke, Merlin moved to the door Eggsy had come through. He poked his head in, looked around, and entered. Roxy, having overcome her shock, followed Merlin. She grabbed Eggsy’s arm and yanked, propelling him backwards until he turned and came with her through the door.

Merlin crouched over Arthur, a hand pressed to the older man’s neck in search of a pulse.

“Well, he’s not dead, lad.”

Eggsy sagged a bit against Roxy’s side.

“Not for lack of trying, mind you. If he’d been wearing anything other than this suit, he’d be as dead as a doornail. As it is, if we get him down to medical, they should be able to get him patched up.”

Merlin stood and tapped his clipboard several times, and returned to look at Arthur’s neck. He turned the older man’s head slightly and examined the scar. Merlin pressed a finger gently against the scar, and after a moment his hand reared back and he pursed his lips in annoyance.

“Aye, there’s something in there. Chipset maybe. We’ll have surgical remove it.”

“Sir, what if Valentine blows ‘im up?”

“Not likely to happen here, lad. We’ve implemented what amounts to interference-laced insulation all around the property. It’s why only Kingsman cellphones and tablets work around here. Did so just after Harry was injured when dealing with Professor Arnold. I need to call Harry, but it’s gonna be at least an hour before he can take a call.”

Roxy elbowed Eggsy, seeing the the sheepish look on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh. I can… I can get ahold of him?” Eggsy’s hand hit the back of his neck, rubbing the bruised mark Harry had left. Of course, Roxy saw the teeth marks before he could cover them completely.

The squeak she let out made both Eggsy and Merlin look sharply at her, one in confusion and the other in embarrassment.

“It was _him_?! The whole time, it was him?!”

“Shut up, Rox!”

Eggsy glanced back at Merlin who simply rolled his eyes and motioned to Eggsy.

“Go on then. Let him know we’re going to interrogate Arthur when we can, and let him know to be extra careful. I dinnae think it’s a good idea for him to be there without backup, so I’ll be putting in a call to the American branch. Arthur never should have authorized this as a solo mission anyway, but my reservations were overruled in favor of expediency. I’ll get Morgana on comms for him as well; she’s quite good at handling high-risk ops.”

“She arrive here then, bruv? Thought she was back to Berlin after Paris?”

“Last night. Apparently Paris has gotten itself situated and she wanted to… _ahem_. Come meet our new Lancelot _properly_.” Merlin shot Roxy an unimpressed look and it was her turn to look sheepish.

Eggsy elbowed her back and muttered, “Get some, Rox!”

Her hissed reply of “ _shut up!_ ” was music to his ears, though her wings trembled in excitement.

Eggsy sobered once Merlin’s words sunk in. He bit his cheek and looked at the floor.

“So congrats to Rox, then? You’ll be a right fuckin’ champ Lancelot.”

“Just so, lad,” Merlin’s voice rang out. “Whether we give you a codename or a bullet is utterly dependent on this,” he said, nudging Arthur’s body with a leather-clad toe.

The door to Arthur’s office opened swiftly and a medical team wheeled in a gurney. They went to work on Arthur, strapping wires and cuffs to his body, and got his situated on a body board. They lifted him to the gurney and left as quickly as they came, talking over each other with hurried shouts of the elderly man’s medical readings.

“Right. Lemme get ahold of ‘Arry, then.”

Eggsy sat back down on the chair he’d vacated earlier and closed his eyes. He drew a wing around him and stroked the coppery mate-feathers absently, focusing on the little spark in his mind that was Harry. He sent the man an image of the American flag, the Kingsman logo replacing the stars on the blue field. He followed this with an emotional combination of _patience-worry-restraint_.

Harry’s returned burst was nearly instantaneous. It was _love-acknowledgement-patience_ , and a hazy sort of image of Arthur. The emotion _curiosity-dislike-query_ followed it almost immediately.

Eggsy gave it a moment and sent back an image of a hospital bed, and _resolution-understanding_ , though he winced as he felt a bit of shame flit in with the other emotions.

Harry’s _question-demand-worry_ was overwhelming. Eggsy pressed the heel of his hand to his eye, trying to relieve some of the pressure of Harry’s forceful push, though he knew logically it wasn’t a physical reaction.

Eggsy focused on an image of Roxy and the word “Lancelot” and pushed that to Harry. He followed this with an image of Arthur on the floor bleeding and an image of the gun in Eggsy’s hands. More _shame_ filtered through, tinging the edges of his thoughts sent to Harry. The silence that resounded from Harry’s lack of response did more to convince Eggsy he’d done the wrong thing than anything Merlin could say.

“‘E uh, ‘e knows. Or at least, what I could send ‘im. ‘Aven’ got anythin’ back yet.” Eggsy murmured aloud, trying to remain focused on the silence between him and his mate.

“Right. Until we know more about Arthur, we’re the only ones that are to know about this. You, Lancelot, you, Eggsy, Harry, and possibly Morgana. I’ll check her neck when she arrives, but I’ve known the lass since she was a baby. She’s my bloody god-daughter, I dinnae doubt her loyalty. Until then, speak to no one. As far as anyone else is concerned, you both shot your dogs and you’ll be accompanying me on specific missions until one of you dies or drops out. Got it?” Merlin’s dark brogue rumbled throughout the room. Both Roxy and Eggsy nodded, serious looks upon their faces.

Harry finally returned Eggsy’s bond-call. It was just as Eggsy had feared. Harry’s push was deeply vibrant _anger-disappointment-embarassment_ with a tinge around the edges of _resignation_. Eggsy’s wings drooped under the intensity of Harry’s push, and both Merlin and Roxy took note.

“Eggsy?” Roxy ventured quietly.

Harry wasn’t done, and sent Eggsy a hazy image of a hotel logo, with a swirl of _disappointment-patience-i’ll wait for help._

“‘Arry says he’ll wait for help at the local hotel. E’s, uh. Not very ‘appy with me right now. Can’t say I blame ‘im though, yeah? Was always gonna fuck this up,” muttered Eggsy, the last sentence only loud enough for Roxy to barely make out. She gave him a sympathetic face, but turned to look to Merlin for guidance.

“Well then, I’d best give the Americans a call. Hopefully they’re not compromised enough to suspect anything. Last they knew, Arthur had shipped Galahad over for a solo mission. Me asking for help raises questions I’d rather not answer today. You two, get yourselves situated, and get a kit packed for each of you. Anything you could possibly think you might need. You know where the armory is. If anyone gives you a hard time, point them to me and I’ll handle it. Covertly let me know if anyone else is sporting a scar that you notice.”

Merlin left, tapping away at his clipboard, stress etching itself across his face.

Eggsy sent a tiny push to Harry, _apology._ He then raised what little empathic shields he could, shutting down the roar of the bond that had opened under Harry’s anger. He scrubbed a hand over this face and looked to Roxy. She looked as uncertain as he.

“C’mere.”

Roxy sat down in the chair with Eggsy, smashing up against his wide, wings colliding with his awkwardly.

“Please don’t be mad at me. I know you wanted this as much as I do. Did.” Roxy’s breath on his neck was warm, and it reminded Eggsy of Daisy when she got into a mood and no one but big brother could calm her down.

“I ain’ mad, Rox. Not at you, anyway. Right fuckin’ pissed at myself, but that’s nothin’ new. Shoulda done somethin’ other than shoot the toff bastard, but it just….” Eggsy trailed off, and Roxy nodded into his shoulder.

“I think I’d’ve done the same, Eggsy. Honestly, I’d probably have just put one in between his eyes if I’d known what a coward he was.”

“Fuckin’ figures he was Charlie’s sponsor, eh?”

Roxy laughed and clung to Eggsy. He pulled his arm around her in a gesture of comfort.

“Did you know they were gonna ask us to shoot the dogs? Seems like a fucked thing to do.”

Roxy paused, and though what Eggsy could see of her face was blank, it was too serene and her wings twitched with nerves.

“Fuck. You fuckin’ knew.” Eggsy’s voice held no reproach, but Roxy shrank under his arm all the same.

“I… yes. Percival, my sponsor? He’s my father’s older brother. I’d grown up with both his and Uncle James’ dogs. The last Lancelot, I mean.”

“ _Fuckin’ hell_ , Rox! You was family?!”

“Look, I didn’t get any help or-“

“Love, that’s not what I mean. ‘Ow the fuck could you stand to do this whole thing, with that kind of grief in your ‘eart? ‘Ow’d you keep on going? Nobody should have to follow those kind of footsteps.”

“I wanted to. I begged Uncle Alastair to nominate me for _years_. Uncle James, too. But the last candidacy before ours was for Ector and I was too young to do it. I think I was 15. I’d only just discovered what they did for a living, and I all but blackmailed them into telling me more about it. Then,” Roxy’s voice hitched a bit and her wings drooped against the chair.

“Then Uncle James died. Uncle Alastair was _shattered._ They were mates, you know? One of the only mated groups in Kingsman’s history. They worked together flawlessly. Then stupid Uncle James had to go and get himself killed while Uncle Alastair came home for some silly audience with Arthur. God, I thought I was going to have two dead uncles before all was said and done. But he showed up the next day, quiet as I’d ever seen him, and asked me if I still wanted in. ‘ _For James,_ ’  he said.”

Eggsy could feel hot tears on his shoulder, though he said nothing, only held her tightly.

“Had a complete meltdown in that stupid shuttle, you know. Uncle Alastair and me both, actually. It was the only time I’d seen him cry over the entire affair. He didn’t even cry when his mate-feathers started turning white. Only when he had to face the reality that he was putting me into the same situation, the same name as Uncle James. God, I can’t even begin to think of what it must have felt like. Feeling Uncle James…” she trailed off, unable to voice the last.

“Believe me, I’ve thought about it.”

“Oh, Eggsy, I wasn’t trying to imply anything.”

“I know. Just, ‘Arry’s twice my age, yeah? I don’ fuckin’ care about the age difference, except it’ll mean ‘e goes before me even if we get long and fruitful lives, you know? I’ll still be ‘ere, doin’ whatever it is that I do, and ‘e’ll just… go. Can’t even pretend to think of what’d ‘appen if Merlin decides I’ve bollocksed this up enough to warrant a firing squad.”

“I don’t think he will. They mightn’t give you a knight’s position, but I can’t think that they’d just kill you.”

“‘Arry might.” Eggsy winced at the memory of Harry’s disappointment.

“Nonsense. He’ll come ‘round. Mates always do. I can’t count the number of times I watched Uncle James irk Uncle Alastair into stony silence, only for it to be gone the next morning.”

“Did you live with ‘em or somthin’?”

“For several years, yes. The party I told you about? With the wing touching? Alastair dragged me out of there that night and I never spent another night in my parents’ home without him or Uncle James there. Holidays, mostly. I think he threatened my father if they ever tried to force me into something like that again. I only had a couple of years left until my majority anyway, and I was an early pick for Cambridge, so I had things lined up. My father called me one day to ask if I wanted to come home or go stay at Uncle Alastair’s flat until uni, and I jumped at the chance. I love my parents, I really do, but they’re idiots. Uncle James and Uncle Alastair made life vivid; my parents didn’t.”

“I always knew you fuckin’ posh twats weren’ all sunshine and solidarity.”

Roxy’s reply was a snort of laughter and a solid punch to Eggsy’s arm.

“Rox. M’sorry about the feathers. You know I’d never do that normal-like.” The rawness in Eggsy’s voice made Roxy squeeze him in reassurance.

“I know. And in a completely cracked way, I’m glad you did it. I know what it feels like now. I know what to expect. It was worse than the party, I’ll admit. Worse still, because it was you. But you didn’t do anything wrong, Eggsy. You gave me an out right at the beginning and I didn’t take it. So it’s partially my fault anyway.” The look she shot Eggsy was rueful, though somewhat amused.

She sobered a bit, and asked, “Eggsy?”

“Yeah, love?”

“I- I heard what you said to Kay. That you got to 46? Did you really?” There was no awe in Roxy’s voice as she asked, only sadness.

“Yeah. My stepdad was a right fuckin’ piece of work. Drugged up mum, turned ‘er out, turned me out in ‘er place, beat me bloody every chance ‘e fuckin’ got. The wings, though. That night was like Christmas in Hell.” Eggsy remained silent for almost a full minute before he spoke again.

“Dean, my stepdad, ‘ad moved up in whatever gang ‘e ran with. So I didn’t ‘ave to pick up ‘clients’ anymore, as long as I ‘elped ‘im with the other business. Theft, mostly. I stayed away from the drugs, both takin’ and sellin’. Never ran ‘em either. But you’ve seen the free runnin’ I do. I’d do that, break and enter, snatch jobs, bit of everythin’ else. But this one night, ‘e wanted me to go ‘round to some poor bastard’s place and rough ‘im up for owed debts. I get there with Rottie and the other goons Dean sent, and the sad sack’s family is there. Little girl, not much older than Dais’ just standin’ there in the parlor while the wife is sittin’ behind her with a look of fear in ‘er eyes I’ve only ever seen in my mum’s. Couldn’ do it.

“So I told the boys that, made to leave, and they started some shit. I managed to get them out into the streets, gave the wife enough time to call the fuckin’ Met. The boys got snatched, but the wife an’ the bloke we were supposed to trash says I’m some kind of ‘passerby.’ A Good Samaritan, yeah? So I get cut free and go ‘ome. To Dean, who’s gotten no less than three phone calls from the boys about it. Clocked me over the head with a fuckin’ sauce pan and duct taped me to a chair while I was comin’ ‘round. Told me that ‘e was gonna pluck a feather from my wings for every minute I didn’ spend thrashin’ the mark. ‘E got to 46 before it was too much of a chore.”

“God, Eggsy. I- I knew it was bad, but _that_? That’s beyond comprehension.”

“I comprehended it just fine, bruv,” Eggsy said wryly. “It’s ‘ow us common-types go, innit? Beatin’ and rapin’ each other like savages?”

“Don’t be daft. You know I don’t buy into your little ‘filthy pleb’ act. I just meant, I knew your home life was bad from what little you’ve spoken of. I just didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“Got out, didn’ I? I’m ‘ere, trying to be better than I was, yeah? ‘Owever much that counts now, it counted for somethin’ to me. Did you know we get fuckin’ paid for this trainin’?”

“Not really, no. I suppose they disclose that after we wash out or get hired.”

“Yep. Ain’t much, but it’s enough. I’ll ‘ave enough with the pay from this, plus the money at ‘ome I was savin’, to get Daisy out of there at least. Maybe enough for a little flat for us both. Definitely enough to get us to Paris, find a place there. Don’ know about mum. Don’ know if she’d want to leave. Don’ got the money for rehab, an’ she fuckin’ needs it. Can’t detox with a toddler.”

Roxy nodded, and asked, “Why Paris, specifically?”

“Alain, the tailor at Kingsman Paris? E’s Pellinore’s baby bruv. Said to come back if I flunked out of posh twat school and learn the actual tailorin’ trade. I’m fuckin’ good at it, apparently. So if I gotta leave the table, but can’t exactly leave ‘the nest’? That’s a good place to be. Let’s me stay somewhat in the know, see you lot sometimes. It’s a job, at least; one that pays decent enough to keep diapers and food in the flat.

“But yeah, even if Kingsman cuts me loose entirely, I won’ lose the pay I earned. So I’m not walkin’ out of ‘ere empty ‘anded. And ‘Arry said that ‘e’s got a file on Dean as long as the Thames, so I can get that to the right folks in the law. Make things a little bit safer at ‘ome for mum, even if she doesn’ want to come.”

“I really hope you get to stay, Eggsy. I mean it.”

“I know you do, Rox. Now. Enough about poor wee Eggsy. What’s all this ‘bout you an’ Amelia?”

Roxy blushed a bit and turned her head back into Eggsy’s shoulder to hide her face.

“ _Nothing you need to worry about,_ ” she hissed.

“She your mate, or somethin’?”

“No, sadly. We tried that already, back on the first night of training. Frankly, it could go either way for both of us, men or women.” Roxy shrugged, and looked up at the ceiling.

“But…?”

“But we like each other, and that’s that.” Roxy was being deliberately vague, but Eggsy didn’t push. He knew what it was like to have secrets, so he only gave her a smile and cheeky wink.

“Well, ‘ave good sex, then.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

***

It took 22 hours for Chester King to die.

He endured surgery, both to remove the neck chip and the bullet, but there was nothing to be done after his blood pressure dropped. The surgeons told Merlin later that they feared the systemic shock of the wound, plus the emotional aggravation of having a dead mate at his age likely combined to let the man slip away. He wakened twice before he died, and both times Merlin was at his bedside, glasses on and clipboard at the ready.

***

Eggsy stood at parade rest in front of the knights’ table, a harried looking Merlin seated in the chair normally reserved for Arthur. It was clear to Eggsy that the man hadn’t left the facility overnight, the five o’clock shadow on his jaw a dull smudge on the otherwise unflappable man. He had two laptops and his clipboard tablet in front of him, turning every once in a while to type or tap into a different machine. Merlin had sent for Eggsy, but the young man had been standing in front of him for nearly a quarter of an hour without so much as an acknowledgement. Eggsy didn’t fidget, keeping his face neutral and his wings relaxed.

“Did you know you’re the only other person besides myself and Harry I’ve seen do that?” Eggsy jumped internally at Merlin’s voice ringing through the chamber.

“Sorry, do what sir?”

“Keep your wings still, I mean. Harry’s a great master at it because of his wing-fighting skill, and I learned young to keep mine either hidden or still much as you did. Not quite as colorfully as you did, but we didnae have such a different upbringing, you and I. We just had more money.”

“I didn’ know that, sir. ‘Bout the wings. Or the other part.”

“I know. It’s a dead useful skill to have. Dinnae lose it.”

“Sir?” Hope bloomed in Eggsy’s chest at Merlin’s words.

“We’re not giving you a code name, lad. Not yet, not until we sort out this fucking mess in the US and wherever Valentine is at. We managed to reroute the tracking chip Arth- _Chester_ had, and make it look like it was still reading his vitals as strong and steady. Unless given any kind of warning, Valentine’s system won’t register that the old bastard is dead and gone. I gathered his testimony myself, what he could give of it. Gave it up readily, in fact. I think he was ready to go.”

“So ‘e’s dead, then? For real?” Eggsy sounded hollow to Merlin.

“Aye. Died from complications from the gut-shot you gave him and a long-broken bond. Keep that in mind.” Merlin’s pointed look at Eggsy’s coppery wingtips had the younger man blushing a bit and nodding.

“Look lad, I know that you know we were training you lot to kill. And I know it’s easier to compartmentalize when you're looking down the sight of a barrel at someone who’s shooting back. But Chester intended you to fail. He intended for you to kill your wee dog, and if the emails I’ve uncovered are to be believed, he intended to have you killed even if you had done the job. A mugging gone wrong, looks like. And in your old neighborhood, well…”

“Nobody would look twice, yeah. Place like that, plenty of folks gettin’ knifed or shot over nothin’ at all.” Eggsy nodded in agreement with Merlin. “I’ve never killed nobody, but I know ‘ow to shove stuff down and forget it until later, Merlin. You know that.”

“I know it, Eggsy. Still, you did kill an unarmed man in cold blood. That looks bad, Eggsy. Very bad.”

“‘E was a fuckin’ traitor, sir! You saw that scar and the shite that came out of it as plain as I’m standin’ in front of you.”

“Just so. And it’d make no difference to a court of law, of course. But here, in Kingsman, we understand the greater good. And having spoken with Roxy and Morgana, not to mention Harry’s hours-long call last night, we’ve decided to give you a bit of a trial run. We’ve got to deal with Valentine. You’re not in on it, I’m not, Lancelot isn’t. I’ve put Morgana through the proverbial ringer, and I’m convinced she’s as clean as the rest of us. Harry’s clean, but he’s in a fucking viper’s nest in America. US HQ was always a black hole of information. Bloody cowboy colonists keep their secrets closer to breast than the Chinese government. They’ve sent Harry a backup agent, but not a Kingsman. Some hay-green baby agent barely out of nappies in a conspicuous black sedan outside the church, I’d wager. Morgana is on his comms, but he’s going in blind.

“Well,” Merlin said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looking at Eggsy squarely for the first time since he’d entered the room, “as blind as he could be, given that I’m almost certain Chester sent him there to die. Galahad's dinnae last long, historically speaking. And Harry’s no exception, despite how much he’d like to think he’s invincible. We don’t yet know what Valentine’s plan even is, but I can all but guarantee you it’s going to go to shit in there.”

Eggsy’s brow furrowed as Merlin spoke and he waited until the man was done before asking, “So what can we do then? Can’t just let him fuckin’ die!”

“We aren’t, lad. I’ve got Percival en route as of last night, but he’ll be at least fifteen to twenty minutes behind Galahad, and though I trust the man, as far as this plot goes Percival is as vulnerable and culpable as any of them.”

“Fuckin’ piss and bollocks, Merlin. They killed ‘is James as sure as they’ll try an’ kill my ‘Arry. Any man would need some soddin’ revenge, ‘im most of all. Rox said ‘e ain’t even cried yet, ‘cept for once on the way to bringin’ ‘er in to trainin’.”

Merlin gave Eggsy a gimlet look and responded, “‘Your Harry?’ I’d keep that under wraps as best you can, lad. Least of all until this is gone and done.”

Eggsy nodded, though a quirk of a smile flashed for a bit.

“Yes, sir. So, is you Arthur now?”

“No. We’ll finish this mission and then convene the Kingsmen. We’ll vote on a new Arthur, likely Harry. Possibly Kay; he’s had about as much time in the saddle as Harry has, though you wouldn’t know it to look at him. Then we’ll figure out what to do with you, assuming you survive this. However, until that time comes, I’m the highest ranking senior department head on the premises, which makes this my circus, and you lot my monkeys. Kay’s fucked off to God-knows-where, as he always does after the counter-torture training. Takes two bloody months to himself to “destress.” I’m hoping he’s just on vacation and not actively working against the agency at this point; wanker owes me for Charlie’s failure and bailed out before I could collect.”

Eggsy shrugged, and remained quiet. Merlin took a few more minutes to work, the typing and clicking almost peaceful despite the severity of the mission before them.

“Alright. Galahad’s scheduled to get to the church for a mid-morning sermon. Should be starting up in about two hours. Go on home and get some rest, lad. Harry’s terminal is there should you want to watch; I’d recommend against it. Whatever you send him through your bond will distract him.”

“Uh, home?”

“Harry’s house. I was under the assumption the ancient sod was your mate.”

“Well, yes, but we’d not really talked all that much ‘bout that stuff before all this ‘appened.”

Merlin sighed and looked at Eggsy.

“Key’s under the potted marigold on the right. He won’t mind so long as you clean up after yourself. He’s been mooning over you for months now; however angry he might be with you, I dinnae think he’ll mind you waiting for further instructions at his place. I’ll send for you, Eggsy, I promise. You’re in this as much as Lancelot, Morgana, and I. Might as well get our money’s worth while we can.”

Eggsy shot Merlin a grateful smile and left, the dismissal apparent when Merlin simply went back to work without a further word. The younger man took his leave of HQ and took the private shuttle back to the tailor shop. He gave Pellinore a nod but didn’t stay to chat. He needed to be ready.

By the time he reached Harry’s house, Eggsy was fretting fiercely. He hadn’t heard anything from Harry through the bond besides a muted still alive sort of feeling, like a buzzing in the back of his mind. He’d even prodded a few times, but left the older man alone when it became obvious that he wasn’t going to be answered. So, Eggsy let himself into the mews house with the key from under the potted marigold, and headed up to Harry’s office. He’d left JB back at HQ, with the other agents’ dogs who might need kenneling during a mission. Apparently it was a service they offered to full agents, though Eggsy hadn’t been informed of that before now.

He seated himself in Harry’s big desk chair and booted up the laptop that sat upon the desk. He surfed the web for a bit, checking the little clock display in the lower corner every five or six minutes. It felt like time creeped by at a glacial pace; Eggsy kept himself completely cut off from Harry emotionally. The last thing he figured his errant mate needed was the nerves of a young man barely able to understand them, let alone deal with them by himself. Soon though, Eggsy’s waiting came to an end with a screen opening itself up on the laptop.

**Eggsy? Are you there?**

A text box appeared at the bottom of the blank window, green text appearing as if by magic. A cursor blinked sluggishly, awaiting his reply.

 

**yes**

**Right. Use the mouse and click the button marked A/V in the upper right hand corner of the blank window.**

**ok**

 

Eggsy did so, and the dialog box opened a new panel, with a recognizable video chat screen and microphone logo indicating sound was active. It also had what looked like a chatroom dialog with one registered user, Merlin’s terminal. Eggsy’s own notice was set to “incognito” and he felt no desire to change it. Merlin’s face appeared in the video chat screen; he was back at his terminal at HQ, no longer at Arthur’s place at the table.

“Eggsy? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, Merlin, I can ‘ear you alright.”

“Good. Galahad is almost to the church. I’ll activate his glasses feed shortly. I need you stay quiet, lad. He’ll be able to hear you if you talk, and he doesn’t need the extra baggage you’ll bring to this situation. Nothing about your abilities, mind, but right now you and he aren’t emotionally stable enough to handle a joint mission like this. If you do stay on with us after all is said and done, we’ll talk to Percival about getting the two of you some pairs therapy to figure out this kind of joint activity. Just shut up and let Galahad do his job. The American agent is in place, but he’s about as useful as tea in Hell if his service record is to go by. The US branch doesn’t seem to put much faith in this op, which is worrying to me. Percival is 36 minutes behind Harry; he’ll be arriving mid-sermon and staking out the outdoors.”

Two more green dots blazed to life in the chatroom list, and Eggsy went silent, his own computer concealing his activity from the others. The feed picked up visually, Harry’s glasses showing a group of churchgoers milling about in front of the stark building that Harry approached. Most were Nadir-flock, but Eggsy was surprised to see a fair number of Ascents as well. The minister stood at the doors greeting people, and despite the shine to his silver wings, Eggsy could spot the feather lacquer on them immediately. He’d used it enough to cover Harry’s copper mate-feathers when he went peddling that the too-perfect texture and shine were obvious to him. Harry was the only other person with the glittering Pinnacle-flock wings that belied his class, and stood out among the crowd for that alone, never mind the obvious wealth his suit showed.

Eggsy figured the minister was likely Ascent-flock at best, possibly a highly paid Nadir. Silver lacquer didn’t cover darker wings well, so he’d have had to start out with lighter colored wings and those weren’t common in Nadir-flock. He typed this revelation quietly and succinctly to Merlin through the text dialog, and was surprised to see it register on Harry’s HUD a second or so after he typed it. Amelia’s voice came through the speakers suddenly, along with a staticky click.

“No sign of Valentine on the premises at initial heat signature, though we’ve got an odd signature in the building across the way. I’ll sort it out and let you know shortly. US HQ doesn’t seem to realize I’m in their drone and sat system, so we’ll have some back up there, Galahad. Let me know when you’re ready and you can join the crowd heading in. Copy?”

“Of course Morgana. And might I say how lovely it is to hear from you again? It’s been far too long since Merlin had you out to visit.” Harry’s voice sounded perfectly calm through the speakers, and Eggsy had to bite his lip to keep from saying anything aloud.

“Hush you. I’m not here for him; I came to visit Lancelot and got roped into this farce because of your boy’s inelegant but useful solution to this situation. Thought you had trained him better though, Galahad. Losing our touch, are we?”

“Apparently.” The flatness to Harry’s voice clenched something in Eggsy’s chest.

“Oh don’t be that way, Galahad. He’s a smart boy. Just young.”

“Yes, and every fledgling offs his boss when the time comes. How traditional.”

“If he hadn’t you’d just have Merlin on comms and no backup, so don’t you start with me, Galahad. I’ve known you my entire life; I’ll spend the rest of it making yours miserable. I like the boy. He’s good for you. God knows no one else has seen you this happy in centuries. Don’t be so cruel; he did you a favor. You hated Chester as much as the rest of us.”

“I’m not here to debate my candidate, Morgana. Least of all with a non-field agent.”

“You wound me, Galahad. Besides, we’re not ‘debating your candidate.’ We’re discussing your lovely mate and his proclivity to act exactly like you used to when you were his age; Uncle Carson has shared _all_ of those stories.”

“And how exactly would you know if he’s my mate or not?”

“Like I said, I came to visit Lancelot. She’s mouthy when she drinks. Besides, I met him at the Cistern. Resourceful little cygnet; I don’t think any of the others have ever just used Kingsman’s own resources to get back home, not even in _your_ magical and perfect cohort. If I recall the tale, you and Uncle Carson spent as much time bickering over who got the only sleeping bag as you did getting lost in the Black Forest.”

Merlin chimed in at this, “I’ll thank you to keep your mouth shut, young lady. I know where you live and with whom you work.”

“And apparently with whom she sleeps,” said Harry primly, causing Morgana to snort and Merlin to choke. Eggsy bit his cheek but grinned and silent laughter shook his wings.

“I hate you Galahad.”

“Ready to go, Morgana my dear.”

“Roger that Galahad. Don’t think I’ve forgotten this discussion. Proceed with caution. Percival is 28 minutes out, so try not to cock it up until he gets there.”

“No promises or guarantees. Agent audio going dark on my end in 3…2…” Eggsy could hear Harry shuffling along with other people, the din of a sleepy church waking up reaching the glasses’ comms easily.

The sermon began like any other might; prayers were made, announcements and bulletins were read. Then came the vitriol.

“ _…And yet there are those who doubt this is the wrath of God. Our filthy government condones sodomy. Divorce! Abortion! Cross-flocking! And yet some still doubt, this is the work of the Antichrist.You do not have to be a Jew, a nigger, a whore, or an atheistic science loving evolution spouter…._ ”

“Charming sermon,” said Merlin dryly over the comms. Morgana hummed in agreement and a tiny nod of Harry’s visual recording showed his huff of agreement as well.

“Galahad, can you see Valentine anywhere? We didn’t pick him up on the initial scans, but we can’t fathom a test going down without some sort of physical presence on his end.” Morgana was all professionalism and ice like this, and Eggsy admired her calmness. His own heart was pounding with nerves and adrenalin coursed through him, despite his physical inactivity.

Harry’s visual searched the room casually, spotting on the obvious security cameras.

“Fuck. He’s elsewhere then; not in the same building. I wouldn’t be anywhere near it if the rages we’ve seen in the past are what he’s testing out here again.” Morgana sounded angry, despite her previous calm.

“The heat signature from the other building? Is it still there?” Merlin asked quickly.

“Still haven’t identified it to complete accuracy, sir. It’s humanoid, but as if whomever it was didn’t have legs below the knee, despite standing up. There’s another humanoid shape as well, sitting down in front of something that I can only assume is a computer of some sort given the way the heat radiates from it. Sorry we can’t work with much more. That might be them, it might be the neighborly farmer and his legless wife.”

“Galahad, your previous encounters with Valentine. His assistant or whatever she is, she had athletic prosthetics, yes?” Merlin’s voice had a note of excitement to it.

Another small visual shake of confirmation came from Harry’s glasses, and Morgana spoke on the tail of that.

“Right. Get out, Galahad. If they’re nearby, this is going to go to shit quickly, especially if they have eyes on you. Be prepared for anything. If you can, hold on until Percival is there; he’s five minutes out.”

The visual recording shook slightly, as Harry made to stand up, but he was accosted as he rose.

“Where are you going? Hey, what's your problem?!”

Eggsy could see Harry tilt his head from the way the feed canted. He was faced with a mousey American woman, her hair falling over her shoulders and plum colored wings in a frizzy mess.

“I am a Catholic whore, currently enjoying congress out of my mate-bond with my black Nadir boyfriend who works in a military abortion clinic. So hail Satan, and have a lovely afternoon, madam.”

“Fucking hell, Galahad. That’s one for the record books.” Morgana sounded distinctly amused at Harry’s speech. Eggsy himself nearly spat out what little breath he had in his lungs at Harry’s retort.

Eggsy watched as the man stood and left, but the growing crowd behind him started to creep in louder and louder through the comms. Morgana’s voice cut through the chatter, but Eggsy could still hear the vile things they were spouting off. He leaned forward and kept his eyes on the screen.

“Galahad, get out now. Percival is there, he just needs to get into position. Galahad. _Galahad?!"_

All that could be heard was the oddly mechanical tone being blared from every cellphone and tablet in the church, drowning out the fervor and movement.

“ _Harry?!_ ” Merlin’s voice joined Morgana’s as chaos began to erupt across the comms.

“Holy fuck!” Eggsy cried out, breaking the silence he’d had imposed upon him by Merlin, but neither the man himself nor Morgana had anything to say about it.

Then there was war.

They only had the visuals from Harry’s glasses, but it was enough. Each of the three views sat in stony silence, their cries to Harry falling on deaf ears. They watched as he shot every bullet he had, and then used another man’s gun. They watched as he burned a man’s face off, and watched the tell-tale jerk of a body that had been stabbed. An explosion rattled Galahad’s feed, and for a moment there was static across the comms as the earpieces and misc sorted themselves out. His wings snapped to and fro, knocking people back, buffeting away enemies, and lashing out with the bone-hard edge catching more than one person in the throat with an audible crunch.

Every motion they saw belied Galahad’s skill and lethality, but there was no telling what kind of destruction he had wrought until they saw him impale the hateful minister on a snapped piece of wood. The minister’s wings jerked, rivulets of blood from other people mixing with the poorly applied wing lacquer. Dimly, Eggsy noted through Harry’s feed that the man’s wings were just a grassy green color underneath the silver paint. Harry’s feed gazed dispassionately over the wreckage of the church, the whimpering sounds of the dying mingling with Harry’s puffy exhalations.

“Galahad. _Harry_.” Morgana’s voice shook, but remained as strong as ever despite it.

Eggsy threw open his emotional shields and battered Harry with _love-calm-reassurance_ , worried that the older man was going to put a gun to his own head once he realized what he’d been forced to do. It was a relief to the young man when he got a buzzing return of _confusion-love-worry_. Eggsy watched as Harry’s feed made to exit the church, but the man stopped when Merlin broke back into the comms.

“Galahad. Percival is outside, but so is Valentine and his assistant. Several heavily armed goons are there as well. Percival has his rifle, but this isn’t going to go down well and he’s not in a great position to pick them off. The American agent is dead; the goons put a bullet in him as the signal went out. Do you have any weaponry left?”

“Not as such, Merlin. I have my ring and my shoes. And my wings.”

There was a pause, then Harry’s roughened voice came through again, quieter.

“Turn it off, Eggsy.”

“No. No, fuck you ‘Arry. M’not doin’ that,” Eggsy croaked through the computer’s microphone.

“Carson. Shut him out. No need for him to see this.”

Merlin’s deep and painful sigh was all Eggsy got before his video feed was cut, though it was clear the audio was still active. Clearer still that Harry didn’t realize Merlin had left it open.

“Harry…” Merlin trailed off.

“Keep an eye on him, Carson, please. He’ll need it after this.”

“Stop talking like that, Galahad. You’ll be fine. You’ve got the backup outside, just take advantage of it.” Morgana’s voice held a note of desperation in it. Eggsy couldn’t breathe for the shake in Harry’s voice when he responded.

“You and I both know Percival, despite being a good shot, isn’t going to be enough here. Let me do what needs doing, and we’ll sort it out later. Just… just don’t leave me here after it’s done. I’d rather come home to be put to rest.”

Eggsy heard the dull thuds of something wooden opening, and the soft footfalls of Harry’s oxfords across pavement. The visual clicked back on again, with a text box that detailed a private message from Merlin.

 

**Don’t let on that you’re still on. Morgana and I will handle this.**

 

Harry’s visuals showed Valentine and Gazelle, his assistant in front of Harry. A veritable army of heavily armed men stood behind them.

“What did you do to me? I had no control. I killed all those people. I wanted to.” Harry’s voice was thick.

“Clever, isn’t it Mr. DeVere? In simple terms, it’s a neurological wave that triggers the centers of aggression and switches off inhibitors.” Valentine’s lisping, smug voice was unmistakeable, even if Eggsy hadn’t been reconnected visually.

“Transmitted through your nasty, free SIM cards, no doubt.”

Valentine’s nodded head made Eggsy’s blood boil. Everyone he knew from the Estate would likely have one or more of the cards, Dean and his mum included.

“Galahad, Percival has eyes on you. Keep him talking if you can,” said Morgana, all traces of her earlier emotional situation gone from her voice.

“You know what this look like? Its like those old movies we both love. Now I'm gonna tell you my whole plan and then I'm gonna come up with some absurd, convoluted way to kill you and then you'll find an equally convoluted way to escape.”

Eggsy watched as Valentine’s fingers clicked off the safety on the handgun he held. He wasn’t going to give Harry the chance to wait for the cavalry.

“Sounds good to me.” Harry’s defiant voice rang through the speakers, and Eggsy was swamped with a wave of _iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouimsorry_ just before Valentine raised the gun.

“Well, this ain’t that kind of movie.”

Eggsy watched the feed on Harry’s glasses snap backwards, finally coming to rest on the cloudy blue sky of America, where it stilled and stayed still.

“ _Galahad!_ ” Morgana and Merlin yelled at the same time.

Harry’s feed remained active, though the visual display was splintered because of the shattered left lens. They heard Valentine and his assistant chat for a bit and the trio listened to the phrase “ _send down the countdown clock; this party starts tomorrow_ ,” before the footsteps of the group left and grew quiet. They could hear several car doors open and close, and then engines crank on before the sounds grew dim.

“Percival? Check Galahad. His trackers are silent.”

Percival’s quiet voice sounded off through Morgana’s comm link, affirming the order.

“Eggsy… lad. I’m so sorry. I dinnae know if you can hear me, but I’m so sorry.”

Merlin’s voice was uncharacteristically soft.

Eggsy didn’t hear him. Eggsy didn’t hear Merlin, nor Morgana when she chimed in with her deepest sympathies. He didn’t hear it when they started sounding more frantic at Eggsy’s silence. He didn’t hear them because he was too busy listening and responding to Harry.

 

_pain-pain-pain-confusion-keepstillkeepstillkeepstill-pain-fuckingfuckithurts-eggsyEggsy! Percival? Percival!_

__

_calm-love-calm-exuberence-calm-harrystaystill-lovelovelove_

 

“Buggering fuck.” Percival’s voice echoed through both Morgana’s comm link and Harry’s. The man’s worried face appeared in the splintered screen of Harry’s glasses.

“What’s the situation, Percival?” Merlin spoke, his own voice rough with worry and stress.

“Harold fucking Hart, you fucking shit. No, hold still you sorry bastard! You’ll kill yourself that much faster and then I’ll have to tell your boy that your only company in Hell is James.”

“Percival! Alastair! What the bloody hell is going on?!”

“Galahad’s alive, Merlin. Injured as all Hell, but alive. Head shot, bleeding profusely, but alive. I don’t see much in the way of injury to the head beyond bone and blood, but he’s non-responsive apart from clutching at me. I’ve got a medical kit with me, but it’s not ”

Eggsy’s broken voice reached the others.

“E’s in pain, but ‘e’s still cognizant. Knows Perce is there with him. Knows to keep still.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Harry!” Merlin’s voice shuddered with relief. “I’m calling in a favor from someone in the US, Percival. Dinnae be surprised when a helo touches down near you. Not Kingsman, mind you, but someone I trust with my life. Get and keep Galahad as stable as possible. And you’ll need to move him. The local authorities are on their way. The building across the way would be your best bet.”

“Roger, Merlin. I’ll get him sorted. Let me know when our ride is here.”

“Eggsy. Come in.”

“Be there in a mo, bruv. Gonna take a minute, yeah?”

“Of course. But we’ll need to move quickly and we’re going to need you here.”

“Yeah. Got it. See you in a bit.”

***

When his emotions had settled and Eggsy went in to HQ, Merlin had the place locked down. When he entered the underground portion from the shuttle, Roxy had a gun trained on him faster than he could raise his hands, her wings flaring behind her in hyperawareness.

“Fuck, Rox! It’s just me!” Eggsy held his hands up beseechingly, and maneuvered his wings into the most nonthreatening position he could in such a short span of time.

“It’s okay, Lancelot. Put it down.” Merlin came around the corner, his clipboard under his arm and a cell phone in one hand. Roxy did so, flicking the safety back on and giving Eggsy an apologetic look as she re-holstered the gun.

“Chester’s phone just received a text message about getting to safety. We dinnae have a lot of time.” Merlin looked between Roxy and Eggsy as he spoke.

“What are we gonna do?” asked Eggsy, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“God knows who else is in Valentine’s pocket and who’s not. We’re going to have to deal with this ourselves. Morgana is staying here to keep this branch calm while she ferrets out potential compromised parties. The Cistern has been locked down by Alain, Berlin’s got Kay, the bastard, who just showed up there an hour ago. US HQ is dark, so who knows what’s going on there or with their motley crew of knights. The two branches  in Asia are still reporting in, but we’ve no knight-level agents there. It’s mostly a support branch set-up over there, Glas Tann folks and analysts. Nairobi branch is field agents, but most are deployed in peacekeeping situations so that’ll be fun if this plot of Valentine’s succeeds. Johannesburg is the same. Australia is green, but again, any field agents of theirs are usually in urban areas. Rio’s branch was already in shambles because of unrelated issues, so I’d be fucking surprised if it’s still standing by the time this is all said and done.”

“Is Kay clean?” Roxy asked Merlin, cocking her head in a questioning motion.

“Aye. Well, as clean as we could determine with a hasty video chat. No neck scar, and he’s not got one of Valentine’s SIM cards. By the way, if either of you brought that tech into my building, I’ll shoot you myself and get new knights to do this from somewhere else. Percival is much the same as Kay, clean as we could determine. Harry’s been airlifted to a private medical facility by a friend of mine- well, friend of Harry’s really. Served with Phil back in the Army and reconnected after the man got into a different sort of “private security” much like Kingsman.”

“What ‘bout the other knights?” Eggsy was all business now, his emotional turmoil shoved down in favor of the seriousness of the situation.

“No telling. And I’m not going to check on them until after this is done. We’ve got business to attend to, and babysitting potential traitors is not on that list. Right. I’ve got a plan. Follow me.”

Merlin led them through the warrens of UK HQ, and out into the fleet aerie. He took them to a smaller, private jet.

“Chester’s gift to himself with the budget surplus of two years ago,” Merlin said dryly, opening the jet’s hull door and motioning for them to ascend into the plane. Inside, it was luxuriousness and clean lines; the kind of smoothness that only money could buy. Eggsy scoffed at it, knowing that it was purchased by a man who had sold out his family for a few more years on the planet.

“Get acquainted with that or get some sleep,” said Merlin, motioning to a series of large black duffel bags, as he himself turned to the cockpit. Within minutes, the plane was taxiing smoothly to a clear area several hundred meters from the rest of the jets and cars. With a shake and a lurch, the plane began to hover, the vertical thrusters working well. Eggsy stared out the window, as did Roxy. The bags lay forgotten as they watched the ceiling split and reveal a darkening sky. The day had passed for everyone in a blur, and the dark of night was creeping slowly towards dawn.

Roxy looked back to the bags and nodded to them as she spoke.

“Should we see what presents we have in store for us?”

“Nah. Fuckin’ knackered. Did you- did you see what ‘appened? In America, I mean.”

“Not personally, no. But I heard the after-action run down with Uncle Alastair. He’s in good hands, Eggsy. Whoever it was that picked them up seemed to think Galahad was going to be fine.”

“Must’ve sedated ‘im. I’ve not felt anythin’ from ‘im in ‘ours.”

“Likely. Even if it was just a graze or a cut through the skull, whatever has caused his aphasia needs resolving. Probably a localized hematoma; a bruise on his brain. Assuming that it wasn’t a better shot, that is.”

“‘Is emotions felt okay, just panicky, you know? Like ‘e knew what was goin’ on, but the pain was too bad for ‘im to stay awake.”

“If there was that kind of clarity through your bond, I’d say things might be looking good?” Roxy could only phrase that as a question, given her lack of a medical degree.

“Yeah. ‘Ope so, at any rate. Let’s get some fuckin’ sleep. Gonna be a bitch of a day tomorrow.”

“I think at this point, it counts as ‘today.’”

“Aye. That it does,” said Merlin, entering the back of the plane. “Autopilot’s on so I’m going to get an hour or two of sleep. Morgana is guiding it from the ground so unless we hit something, she’ll be able to remotely guide it until we get there. You two should bunk down as well.”

He went to a side cupboard and removed several small airline-style pillows and folded blankets. Merlin tossed a set to each of them. The plane was situated in such a manner that the seat Eggsy was in was a single, and across the aisle, there sat a double, bench seat. Roxy stretched out on her side on one of the bench seats, draping her lax wing over the back of the seat to stretch out comfortably. Eggsy grinned slightly; Roxy had been one of the only sprawlers he’d ever encountered. Most people kept their wings tucked or at least close by when they slept. Roxy’s spread out wherever she lay in an inelegant sprawl. Merlin grabbed the bench seat behind Roxy and tapped a button to dim the cabin lights. Eggsy reclined his own seat and fell asleep quickly.

No dreams came to Eggsy, a fact that he would later be grateful for, given the circumstances. It felt like only minutes had passed, though judging by the sunlight streaming in the cabin it had been a few hours at least, when the plane lurched and Eggsy was wakened by Roxy’s shout of alarm.

“Shit! Fucking turbulence!”

A startled Merlin scrambled around for purchase to shove himself upwards and out of the bench seat, but wasn’t able to do so fast enough. Eggsy watched it unfold as if in near slow-motion, Merlin’s hands slipping on the leather seat upholstery and Roxy’s panicked wings flapping all over their side of the plane. So when the two came into contact, Eggsy could pinpoint the exact moment when they both stopped.

The plane had righted itself easily, the turbulence outside the jet a minor thing in comparison to the turbulence brewing inside the tiny cabin. Roxy’s eyes were wide and staring directly in front of her, her wings still as glass behind her where Merlin’s left hand was tangled in the middle primaries. Her chin quivered as she breathed in a large breath, and she shuddered and sank back into his touch even despite the seat backs separating them.

Merlin had gasped at the contact, his body going completely taut. When Roxy slumped backwards towards him, Eggsy watched him swallow deeply and bring his other shaking hand up to her corresponding wing. He could see the older man’s wings straining against their straps under his disheveled jumper. The look on Merlin’s face was awestruck, an emotion Eggsy would have never expected of the dour man. The cracked whimper that left Roxy’s mouth when Merlin’s right hand touched her other wing made Eggsy look away and bury his head under the blanket. The cabin was quiet as far as Eggsy could tell from his little fortress, and though he was smiling and trying not to laugh at the situation, if either of the others had looked over they’d have seen the blanket twitch with silent snickers. Finally, several beeps from the front of the plane caused Merlin to withdraw to the cockpit, and after what Eggsy deemed a respectable amount of time, he peeked his head out from under the blanket to stare at Roxy.

She was still staring forward, and her wings hung limply behind her. She had one had on her lips and the other rating demurely in her lap. She glanced over at Eggsy, her eyes still wide and blown, and her cheeks flushed a fetching shade of peach when she saw his teasing look at her.

“ _Not a fucking word, Eggsy,_ ” she hissed at him. “We’ll deal with this when we get home.”

“Yeah I bet you will.” The unholy glee in Eggsy’s voice was unmistakeable. He sobered a bit and asked. “What are you going to do about Amelia?”

“No idea. We weren’t exactly planning on being exclusive, as you well know. Bit of a one-off with the potential for more? But I suppose this rather limits further interaction until Merlin and I… Jesus. _Merlin and I_.” Roxy bit off with a sharp laugh, full of mirth and excitement.

“My mum is going to lose her bloody mind about this. I know I am. I mean…” Roxy glanced almost instinctually to the cockpit, and shook her head to focus upon Eggsy once more.

“I’ve always _liked_ him, you know? Always thought he was quite dashing but I never figured on something like this happening. What was it you said back at the club? ‘You like them well-fit and older?’ You’re not the only one, at least for men. Besides, he’s my boss at the moment. I don’t even know the protocol for that kind of thing.”

“Least yours ain’t gettin’ shot at.”

“Not yet, but if this all goes tits up he very well might be.”

“Well then you’ve got Amelia as a back-up, yeah?”

“Just for that, _you_ get to go deal with Valentine personally. I’ll stay here and have a nice nap. Then when this is all over with, you can go yell at yours for getting shot.”

“Nah. We’ll both go, bruv. It’ll be a bloodbath with us both there. ‘Sides, me’n ‘Arry got plenty to talk about that ain’t got nothin’ to do with ‘im gettin’ shot.”

Roxy nodded lamely and looked over to the duffel bags that had shifted during the turbulence.

“Shall we see what we’ve got in there?”

Eggsy nodded alongside her, and tossed the blanket over the back of the chair. Roxy moved and unzipped the first bag, revealing a mishmash of boxy yellow plastic and metal.

“The fuck is this?” Eggsy took in the mess and spoke, shocked at the collection.

“I have no idea,” said Roxy, equally as perplexed.

“What you're playing with is a prototype personal trans-atmospheric vehicle. It was developed as part of Reagan's ‘Star Wars’ project. It’s pretty basic, but it should still work.” Merlin came into the back again, sitting down at the small desk accompanying the miniature terminal set up on the sideboard.

The man smiled darkly and continued. “We’re going to take out one of Valentine's satellites. We're gonna break the chain; stop the signal. It will take him a couple of hours to reboot it. Which buys us enough time for you to get me into Valentine's mainframe so I can shut it down.”

Roxy and Eggsy looked at each other and back to Merlin.

“So, rock, paper, scissors for who get’s to wreck up Valentine’s party?” Eggsy asked.

Merlin gave Eggsy a flat look and then looked at Roxy. He took a nearly imperceptible breath in and out before saying, “Lancelot, you’re going to be using it; get into your HALO suit.”

“Why the fuck does Rox get to be Major fuckin’ Tom and I get to stay ‘ere?” Eggsy asked, with no real anger in his voice.

“Because, you daft sod, you’re going to be getting revenge for your mate. Or was I mistaken about that being the plan?” Merlin’s response was as devoid of emotion as Eggsy had veer heard it be. Only the slight smile hiding in the man’s eyes made him realize he was being teased.

“Yeah, alright. ‘Sides. I’m a better fuckin’ shot than Rox by ‘alf.”

“Fuck you, pleb. You _wish_ you were as good as I am on my worst day.”

Eggsy and Roxy broke into snickers, and Merlin just shook his head. Once they had collected themselves a bit, the older man looked at the others and asked, “We’ve a small galley if you’re hungry. Mostly non-perishable things, but there’s milk and cold cereal, as well as tea and coffee if you want to eat before this goes down.”

“Could do with a bit of something,” Roxy admitted. “Tea at the very least. If I’m going to be flying into orbit on a death trap built before I was born and without the use of my own two wings for when it fails, then I’d rather die with something calming my nerves.”

“Why wouldn’ you be able to fly?” Eggsy looked confused.

“HALO suits aren’t designed with wing-slips. They’re pressure-sensitive, and the slits for wings would disallow the pressure to equalize properly.”

“Sick.”

“Just so,” Merlin said, collecting the pieces of the odd robotic machine and putting them out of the aisle. “Galley’s back that way. Small icebox on the right, dishes and the like strapped in above the sink. I think there’s a toaster, but I dinnae know if we’ve got bread for toast. Electric kettle below the sink. Sink’s potable, so you can fill it from the tap.”

Eggsy nodded and went to make them all something to drink. He knew Merlin preferred coffee to tea, so he made both. True to word, there was no bread, but there was an entire tin of rather pricey buttery shortbread in one of the cupboards, so he added that to the small tray he had begun assembling. Roxy sauntered past him, snagging a biscuit, and headed to the lavatory to change. Eggsy brought the tray into the main cabin and set it down, handing Merlin his coffee and taking his own tea. He sat, and watched the older man.

“So. Rox, eh?”

“No.”

“What? I bloody watched it ‘appen!”

“No.”

“Is that all you’re gonna say?” Eggsy’s voice held all the sarcasm and excitement it had held for Roxy earlier.

Merlin simply glared at the younger man and sipped his coffee.

“Fine. Be that way. I’ll just get ‘Arry to ask you, and then I’ll get ‘im _and_ Rox to tell me the gory details.”

Merlin arched an eyebrow but said nothing. Eggsy pouted like a toddler and sipped his own tea. He tried reaching out to Harry again, but the bond was still muted under his mate’s sedation. He sighed and drained the rest of his cup. Snagging a handful of the shortbread, he looked out the window at the passing clouds. They were somewhere in the mountains, though whether they were the Alps or the Himalayas, Eggsy couldn’t tell.

Morgana’s voice cutting in across the overhead speakers pulled Eggsy from his musing.

“Merlin, this is Morgana. Come in.”

Merlin leaned back to the terminal near the wall and pressed a button, which lit up at the touch.

“Go ahead, Morgana.”

“We’ve got 16 here at home for sure. We’re only a third of the way through scanning people, and things are getting antsy.”

“Any knights?”

“None yet, but we’re only about halfway through them. We know Galahad, Lancelot, Percival and Kay are clean. Tristan is clean as well. Gareth, Gawain, and Bedivere are out of the country and we haven’t been able to get visual verification, though each claims innocence verbally. Ector is in the wind, off the grid, and isn’t answering, Bors is in deep cover at the moment so we’ve no way of knowing, and Pellinore threatened to stab me in the eye with pinking shears if I even suggested he was disloyal. Alain said the same when I called him earlier, but frankly if either of those old bastards _were_ in Valentine’s pocket, the other would probably gut him like a fish.”

“Roger. Keep me updated. And if Ector surfaces without checking in and we don’t know his status, put a shoot to kill order on him. How are the other branches looking?”

“Clusterfucks right and left. The Cistern is still locked down and Alain discovered two and had them shoved into an oubliette. A literal oubliette. Berlin is clean as best they can tell, but they’re preventing anyone from leaving the building until you give the all-clear. Brazil is offline now, so we’ve no way of knowing how it’s going there. US has been dark since yesterday when Chester sent Harry to Kentucky, but I’ve had a call from a friend in their IT department who says he’s with five or six others, including one of their knights, and each remains loyal. They’re hunkering down because apparently the disloyalists have turned their HQ into a war zone. Fucking Americans always starting things before the party day.

“Asia is still mid-search at both branches like we are, no numbers yet. Australia is still checking, none so far. Nairobi is clean, 100%, but their field agents aren’t at home so if this signal goes live they’ll be helpless. Jo’burg is almost done, 3 of theirs turned and have been dealt with. At the moment, we’re just waiting for counts to come in. Clearly Jo’burg is taking care of their problem with extreme prejudice. What would you like the rest of us to do sir?”

“If they’ve got implants, 100 percent certainty, lock them up violently. We’ll sort that mess later. If the other branches want to deal with theirs in their own way, so be it. But send out a memo to the responsible parties indicating that if they get it wrong, it’s on their heads. Everyone signed the same contract; they knew this was a possibility.”

“Roger, sir. You’re about 15 minutes from landing for your satellite launch. How’s our girl?”

Merlin stuttered a bit, clearly caught off guard by the unknowing statement.

“Uh. Good. She’s good. Great. Good. Yes.”

“Smooth, bruv. Super smooth,” Eggsy chimed in from the other seat.

“Indeed, Merlin. Why the awkwardness?”

“Never you mind. Deal with this. I’ll take the plane’s controls shortly. Merlin out.”

They landed shortly thereafter, and Eggsy and Merlin spent about ten minutes reconstructing the rig that Roxy was to use. She was pacing behind them, her helmet in her hands. Finally, they finished and turned to her.

“Time to go, Rox,” Eggsy said. She nodded and glanced at Merlin, before blushing a bit and climbing into the rig. The older man helped her strap in, studiously avoiding her gaze. Eggsy inflated the weather balloons as necessary while Merlin quietly explained the release and emergency release.

Rosy caught Eggsy’s eyes and jerked her head in a slight movement. He caught it and headed towards the plane, giving the others some privacy. He kicked at the snow a bit, and huffed. The cold air of the mountain made his breath fog, and he jammed his hands in his woefully underwhelming jacket. He unthinkingly reached out through the bond to Harry again, sending a little wave of _reassurance-love-worry_ , and almost jerked his head straight into the aileron of the plane’s wing when he got a reply. Harry responded dimly with _love-apology-tired_. Eggsy chuckled to himself, knowing the older man was either completely doped up or was dreadfully exhausted after the ordeal of the previous day. Eggsy looked over to Roxy and Merlin, prepared to tell them Harry was awake again, but stopped. The older man had her face cradled in his hands and was kissing her gently. Her hands were curled around his forearms delicately.

Eggsy sent that image to Harry with a much of _mates!_ and received what amounted to laughter through the bond. it was followed slowly by a tired-feeling _becareful-love-worry_. Eggsy nodded, and then realized Harry couldn’t see it. So he sent an acknowledgment to the older man, and an emotional push to sleep. Eggsy softly pushed the shields he’d built up back into place so that the older man could rest. He heard Merlin say something to Roxy, and called out.

“Come on Merlin! Time ain’t exactly our friend, bruv!”

The older man nodded at Roxy and came to the plane’s stairs. He motioned for Eggsy to go up first, and together they watched Roxy lift off before Merlin settled the door into place.

“Right, so ‘ow we doin’ this?”

“You’re getting in with Chester’s invitation; you’ll have to blend in.” Merlin handed Eggsy a fine leather garment bag. Eggsy saw the Kingsman logo embossed on the luggage tag and looked up at Merlin.

“I’m supposed to be Chester?”

“His invitation is in his phone. Give him that and his real name, and you’ll be fine. Fix your accent though; Nobody getting invited to this sounds like they were raised in a council flat.”

“Fuck you very much, Merlin,” said Eggsy, imitating Harry’s accent flawlessly. he slipped back to his natural speech and said, “What ‘bout you?”

“I’m the pilot. I’m going to stay here. Besides you need a handler; Morgana has Lancelot as her primary. I’ll be yours. You’ll be able to tap into their feed if necessary.”

Eggsy nodded towards the garment bag.

“Is that gonna fit me?”

“A bespoke suit always fits. Just be grateful Harry had it made for you.”

“Nah. I’m _glad_ he did; don’ get me wrong. But I’m grateful _Pellinore_ made it for me. I know ‘ow long these fuckin’ things usually take to make.”

Merlin smirked.

“Smart lad.”

Eggsy headed towards the small lavatory to change. He snagged a last biscuit from the still-open tin and shoved it into his mouth, wiping away the crumbs indelicately. He hung the garment bag on the door and washed his hands before opening it. He’d made that mistake once, getting grease on his hands before touching the wool of his siren suit. The stain had never come out, and he’d endured a disappointing silence from Pellinore when he showed the tailor his mistake.

He dressed slowly, taking the time to ensure things fit the way Harry had shown him. Whoever had packed the bag had included everything: pants, two vests, sock braces, shirt stays, both a belt and a set of braces for his own personal taste. He even had a shoulder holster like Harry’s tucked into a side pocket with his oxfords. A small velvet box included a tie pin and cufflinks, and the signet ring was nestled into a small slit in the lining between the cufflinks. Eggsy made sure to keep his lines smooth and even, and slipped the signet ring on last. He looked at himself in the mirror, a virtual carbon copy of Harry the first time he’d seen the man in at the police station. All that was missing was the hair, the glasses, and the Rainmaker.

Eggsy found comb and styling oil in the lavatory’s supplies and went about settling his hair into a mimicry of Harry’s. He quite liked it on the older man, and though he felt the look aged him a bit, it fit his face well enough. He searched the bag again for glasses and found a hardshell case that had a blinking green indicator on it. Opening it, he found a pair of Kingsman glasses nestled within, and a small screen on the inside indicating they held a full charge. He slipped them on his face and looked over the completed look. He pushed a mental image of himself in the suit to Harry, and received a slow _incredible-covetousness-love_ in return. He tapped the glasses to Roxy’s comms channel and spoke to her.

“Rox, it’s me. How’s the view?”

“Hideous. Remind me to die before I do this again.”

“No promises, bruv. Mine’s pretty sweet. Did they make you one of these suits yet?”

“No, not yet. Merlin said he’ll take me in for a fitting when we get home.”

“Mmmhm. ‘E’ll ‘take you’ alright. Right into dressing room one.”

“You’re the worst thing in the world, Eggsy Unwin, and we’re trying to stop a homicidal megalomaniac.”

“I know love. We’re coming up on ‘is base anyway; got to go. Good luck.”

“You too.”

Eggsy clicked off the comms and smirked to himself and came into the plane’s small cabin. He stood tall and proud, his wings arched behind him in determination. The single black feather had begun to show through the gold, but Eggsy took no notice of it.

Merlin glanced over from his terminal and spun the chair to take in the completed look.

“Looking good, Eggsy.”

“Feeling good, Merlin.”  
  
"One last thing, lad. Harry left this for you. They're sized to fit him, but I think they'll fit you well enough." Merlin retrieved a wooden box, roughly the size of a pizza box but thrice as deep. He handed it to Eggsy, and the weight was surprising. The younger man opened it and a slow smile crawled across his face.

" _Yes_ Harry," he said, pulling out the golden wing-blades, their shine reflecting the light onto his face.  
  
" _Fucking sick."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: the church scene (so all the whatever-phobic and whatever-ist language used there is applicable), awkwardness, mentions of animal abuse (the dog test), mentions of past torture and abuse, etc.


	6. Chapter 6

Eggsy left Merlin at the plane, the wing-blades he proudly wore gleaming in the overhead lights of Valentine’s compound. The woman who had greeted him was prattling on about all sorts of tidbits and factoids, but Eggsy was barely paying attention. He scanned the walls on either side of him, the deep recesses cut into the hard stone bearing heavy doors more suited to a jail than the shelter Valentine espoused this place to be.

“Got heat signatures behind every door, Eggy, multiples at times. Likely the missing dignitaries, but we cannae be certain. We’ll deal with them later.”

Eggsy nodded imperceptibly, knowing the motion would register on the glasses for Merlin. He smiled and flicker out his wings in a practiced motion of arrogance and found himself comforted by the snick and clack of the blades on his wings. Valentine’s hostess hadn’t blinked twice at the adornments, their clearly expensive nature and his supposed “authority” combining to make the woman turn a blind eye to what were clearly weapons, despite the “no weapons” policy he’d been patted down for. It became clear to Eggsy why, when he was ushered into a large room full of Pinnacle-flock partygoers, almost all bearing the stylish adornments of their class. Footballers, monarchs, oil barons, celebrities, singers, almost every walk of life that the wealthy and idle held was represented. Eggsy winced internally, spotting more than one now-former icon of his youth among the group. He was stopped by an Ascent-flock barkeep, the man’s berry-colored wings unadorned, but held unnaturally still.

“Would sir care for a drink?”

Eggsy smirked as if he was amused by this request and addressed the man, keeping his eyes somewhere above the man’s shoulder.

“Martini. Gin, not vodka. _Obviously_. Stirred for ten seconds while glancing at an _unopened_ bottle of vermouth.”

Merlin choked in his earpiece, trying not to laugh too badly. Morgana’s voice cut through Merlin’s coughs with her bright, bell-like laughter.

The man nodded and turned to leave. Eggsy noted the reason for the man’s still wings was some sort of muted harness wired into his wings. Glancing about, Eggsy noted that all the other non-Pinnacle staff he could see were in much the same situation.

“Merlin, they’ve got the staff clipped, you clocking this? Ascents at the very least. I haven’t seen any Nadir, and the only Pinnacles I’ve seen are the administrative staff that met us.”

“Copy that, Eggsy. Keep that in mind when you inevitably blow the place up, will you?”

“No promises, Merlin.”

The man returned with his drink, and Eggsy sipped it, not bothering to tip. Roxy had told him early on in training that the concept of tipping was entirely too American for European Pinnacles, and thus they didn’t generally bother. Eggsy always thought it was a load of bunk, but the non-response of the waiter seemed to confirm that little tidbit. The drink was terrible; whomever had mixed it added too much gin and not nearly enough of anything else to counter it. Given the haughtiness he was exuding in order to fit in, a poorly made drink seemed like the same kind of response he’d have given as well.

“Eggsy, get me online. Now.”

“Yep. On it.”

Eggsy watched the room for a moment, before spotting an older man on the balcony with a laptop open. Nodding to himself, he headed upstairs and approached the man.

“Society is dead; long live society,” Eggsy said, the falseness in his voice unmistakeable. However, the man before him was clearly either not paying attention or wasn’t accustomed to people being sarcastic, because he brightened and greeted Eggsy when he saw him.

“Amen to that! Morton Lindstrom.” The man sounded Scandinavian, and his handshake was weak when he clasped Eggsy’s hand. Not someone accustomed to actual hard work, Eggsy surmised.

“Chester King. How’d you get online? I couldn’t.”

“Oh it’s a closed network, you see. Preauthorized connections only.”

“Ah, of course. Do you happen to have the correct time? I seem to be on my last time zone.”

“Oh yes! I-“ Eggsy cut the man off with a shock from his signet ring, sliding him further into the small booth and scooting in behind the laptop. He plugged in the small USB rootkit drive Merlin had given him and made to rise, only to be stopped by the feel of a knife against his throat.

“Oh no, none of that now. Get up, nice and slow.”

Eggsy pursed his lips, feeling the cold metal heating against his skin as he listened to _Charlie fucking Hesketh_ murmur in his ear.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well my family was naturally invited. Obviously.” The nasal, oily quality of his voice hadn’t changed since he’d been banished from Kingsman. The smugness in his tone was overwhelming, and Eggsy spared a scant moment to push an image of Charlie to Harry, along with a feeling of _annoyance-thisbitch-amusement_.

Morgana spoke low into the comms.

“That stupid fucking little prick. We should have killed him when we had the chance, Merlin.”

“You’re not wrong, lass. Eggsy, see if you cannae get a look at his neck. See if he’s the same kind of traitor as mummy and daddy, or just a scared little boy following orders.”

Eggsy turned his head slowly, telegraphing his moves. There, behind Charlie's ear, was a scar. Newly made, but there nonetheless.

“Killed your sponsor, you know. Old bastard tried to poison me.”

Charlie froze, and the knife shook a bit against Eggsy’s neck.

“No you didn’t. Father said he’s in his own shelter. His implant is still active.”

“Of course it is. I cut it from his traitorous fucking neck and Merlin rigged it to remain active, sending a false signal. He’s as dead as Amelia. Remember her?”

Morgana snorted into the comms, listening to Eggsy’s drivel. Charlie, however, was shaking.

“You little fuck. If they let people like you in, it’s no wonder they’re all as good as dead anyway. Even with Chester gone, you really think you’ll be able to stop this? Valentine is going to win, mark my words. Now get the fuck up.”

Charlie jerked Eggsy up by the wing, and Eggsy hissed at the intrusive touch. He could feel an echo of surprise and dislike from Harry’s end of the bond, but it wasn’t enough to distract him entirely. He stood up, the knife still pressed to his throat, and let out an audible sigh of relief when Charlie’s hand slipped from his wing to his wrist, holding him in place that way.

“Valentine! I’ve caught a fucking spy!” Charlie howled across the room. Eggsy could see a large set of clear window panes, Valentine and the terrifyingly intense woman that always accompanied him looking across the way at him.

“You’re in it now, you little whore. Just wait until th-“ Eggsy cut Charlie off with a buffet of his wing, knocking the other man back. Eggsy winced a bit as the knife gave him a shallow slice across part of his throat, but turned to face Charlie head on. Charlie, grasping at his chest where the sharp ends of Eggsy’s wing-blades had caught him across the sternum. Eggsy recalled his one-off quip to Merlin all those months ago about breaking Charlie’s nose, and proceeded to follow through. The crunch was more satisfying than he thought it had any right to be.

Eggsy looked to the control room, where Valentine was gesticulating and his companion was quickly typing something into a computer terminal.

“Get back to the fucking plane, Eggsy,” said Morgana, calm as ever.

“On it!”

Eggsy vaulted over the balcony railing, landing hard, but stable. He dashed towards the exit he’d been led into, dodging partygoers and the occasional grabby staff member. They were easily avoided. The armed men in winter weather tactical gear were not. Gunshots rang out before he knew where he was going, and he felt the impact of more than a few of them on his suit. It hurt, like any bullet would, but the suit’s superior kevlar weave deflected the shots. He’d been told by Pellinore that low-caliber bullets wouldn’t be able to pierce the suit, but the closer a short got, or the larger the caliber, the more the fibers would be damaged by the blast. Anything larger than a .45 and he could expect to be heading home with a new hole.

Merlin was shouting orders in his ear, directions for returning through the wending pathways and hallways of Valentine’s compound. He followed them as best he could, firing his handgun until he was fairly sure he was out of bullets. When some of the more adventurous guards got close enough, Eggsy would flash out his wings in various sweeps and jabs. The metal adorning his wings all but vibrated as he made contact again and again with flesh, whatever protection they wore falling to the beautiful knives he wore. He was nowhere near proficient with this form of combat, and though Eggsy felt his wings tiring, he knew he had to press on. He thought idly that it was a good thing none of the goons seemed to be skilled at winged combat; otherwise he’d be in ribbons.

He could hear Roxy’s mission in the background of his earpiece, and from the way it sounded, the newly christened Lancelot was having issues of her own. Something like a dull explosion sounded, and Roxy let out a shriek of terror before collecting herself enough to pull off the shot. He heard Morgana muttering a countdown, and at “one” there was a split second of silence and then both Merlin and Morgana whooped in exultation.

“Well done! Well done both of you!” said Merlin, the relief evident in his voice.

“Excellent shot Lancelot!” Morgana echoed. Eggsy could only hear Roxy’s heavy breathing and occasional scream as she fell back towards the earth. When he finally heard the ripping pull of a parachute, he smirked to himself.

“Well done, Rox! Good girl.” With that, Eggsy ran again, head back in the mission.

Eggsy’s parkour knowledge came in extremely handy, using the rough-hewn rock of the mountain as a stepping stone over guards. He tried once to let his wings take him into a glide, but the weight of the blades was such that he nearly fell from the sky like a nestling. Instead, he dropped to his knees and skidded through several guards, wings neatly slicing them at the hamstring and thigh. He lurched to his feet, none too gracefully, and kept moving. He paused only to pick up one of the plastic-and-metal guns the goons had dropped, but didn’t have the time to check and see if the magazine was full. He’d noted several times that his adversaries had rifle jams, likely from the slipshod construction of the guns, but it made him feel better to have something in his hands which which he could commit acts of violence.

He could feel the chill in the air from the outside trickling in, so he knew he was close. Merlin was no longer in his ear, shuffling around in the background noise, but Morgana was giving one and two word direction as needed. He turned the corner and saw the jet parked atop the storage elevator, facing the runway, and he could just make out Merlin trying to talk to the armed guards aiming their guns at him. Eggsy aimed the gun, but the click-clank of the internal mechanisms failing let him know he had a jam on his hands.

“Merlin!”

The armed guards turned, and as soon as they did, Eggsy could spot Merlin take aim with a rifle of some sort and take them out quickly.

“Get fucking in!” The Scotsman’s voice rang out through the corridor and reverberated through his earpiece, and Eggsy took off at a sprint towards the jet. He watched as Merlin took aim again and leapt to the right, letting his wings billow out and give him a touch of extra air time before landing and running again. Merlin’s shot was singular and precise; whatever goon or thug was following him was no more. Eggsy all but crashed into the stairway and climbed taking the steps two at a time. He collapsed into one of the seats and looked up at Merlin.

“Let’s get the fuck out of ‘ere!” His accent slipped through with the stress of the situation.

“We can’t. I can’t get into Valentine’s machine. He’s got biometric security, and while given enough time I’m sure we could get past it, Morgana and I, right now time is not our friend. You’re gonna have to get in there and make sure his hand never touches that  desk.”

Eggsy stared, mouth open and gaping like a fish.

“Are you takin’ the fuckin’ piss?!”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Sorry Eggsy. It’s the best we can do right now. I’m working on getting into more than just the main computer system, but it’s just not enough to stop him entirely,” said Morgana through their comms.

Eggsy sighed and heaved himself upright, not caring that the blades on his wings had left blooded slices in the fine leather of the seat he’d carelessly thrown himself into.

“Alright. Let’s have that then,” Eggsy said, motioning to the rifle in Merlin’s hands.

“Oh no. This is mine. I’ll show you yours.” Eggsy rolled his eyes at Merlin’s dramatics but followed the older man anyway.

As they walked he felt a small push of _concern-love-question_ from Harry, and sent back _love-conviction-dedication_ along with a dim image of the biometric handprint he’d spotted on Merlin’s terminal. Harry responded with _love-careful-staysafe._

Merlin ushered him into the small plane bathroom and tweaked the picture frame behind him. It opened a panel, a small arsenal of weaponry and gadgetry inside. He looked over the collection, and grabbed the Rainmaker. He sent an image of it to Harry, and received a simple burst of _happiness-smugness_. Eggsy smirked to himself at Harry’s response.

“Good choice.”

Merlin left him to resupply, and Eggsy mirthfully went to work, jamming as much as he could carry into his pockets, holsters, and even an odd little handgun carrier in the small of his back on his belt. He pocketed an extra clip, and slid a switchblade stiletto knife into his picket alongside the grenades. Eggsy also stopped and rooted around in the small galley before leaving. He had noticed a bottle or two of Lucozade in the refrigerator when he had made tea that morning, and despite it being his least favorite flavor of cherry, he now willingly drained an entire bottle. Tossing it into the small bin, Eggsy moved on. He made his way back to the front of the jet, gave Merlin a cheeky grin, and darted back down the hallway.

The path was clear for the most part, save for the bodies. A few of the goons were still alive, their groaning any begging battering against Eggsy’s psyche as he moved between them. Once, a hand grabbed his ankle and almost tripped him; he’d turned and shot the owner of the hand with one of his handguns almost before he registered pulling it from the holster. The hand went lax and Eggsy shuddered a bit pulling away from the dead man’s grasp. As he skidded around a corner, cursing the sickened floors and the posh shoes with no traction he had to wear, Merlin’s voice crackled through the comms again.

“Shit. Eggsy, Valentine’s using someone else’s satellite. He’s gonna reconnect the chain and take no time at all. He’s already at twenty percent!”

“I can try and slow down the linking, but the other satellite isn’t easily hackable,” piped in Morgana, her frenetic typing audible through the radio. Merlin cut back through.

“Eggsy, it seems Valentine’s got a present for you. Get a move on!”

Even without Merlin’s vocalized warning, Eggsy would have realized the issue when the first bullet went flying at him. He dropped, opening the umbrella and pulling his wings back into a smaller target. He fired the Rainmaker, knocking back a few of the goons, but something large punched through the fabric shield.

 _’50 cal,’_ his mind supplied as he looked at the hole.

Another punched through to the left of the first, and grazed his wing. It burned as it traveled, but Eggsy pushed the pain to the back of his mind and dug into his pocket. The first thing to touch his hand was the stiletto knife, and the precious seconds it took to rifle past that to the lighter meant another hole in the Rainmaker. One sheer panel was already down, and two others were benign to decay rapidly. Still, Eggsy closed his hand around the warm metal object, clicked on, and threw it in a graceful arc. He then huddled behind the umbrella, turning so his wings would take the brunt of the explosion if the Rainmaker failed.

The sound was deafening, even knocking out comms for a moment with a scratchy hiss. The scent of blood, burning feathers, and cooked flesh made Eggsy’s stomach turn. He ran a hand over his face and swallowed the bile that had risen. Unpleasant through it was, he couldn’t afford the distraction.

The Rainmaker beeped shrilly in his hands. Checking the indicators, Eggsy realized that its usefulness had run it’s course for anything other than a bludgeon. And while that might be handy in any other situation, this was not one of them. Eggsy dropped it and equipped his handgun. Taking off at a run, he wended his way back towards the center where Valentine’s party and the computer terminal controlling everything lay waiting.

Eggsy turned a corner, and was greeted with a squadron of security guards. They were armed with the crappy assault rifles, but there were enough of them that Eggsy knew he didn’t really stand a chance. He turned back to try and find another path, but the end of _that_ corridor was besieged as well. All that was left to him was a clip of handgun ammunition, his knife, a grenade, and his wings. Seeing no other option, Eggsy darted into one of the cement doorways lining the hallway.

Breathing heavily, he spoke aloud.

“Merlin, I’m fucked.”

“As am I,” came the dour response. Whatever Merlin meant by that, Eggsy didn’t know. What he did know, however, was that this wasn’t the kind of fight he could win. It settled low in his gut, the idea that this was how he died. It wasn’t necessarily _bad,_ but it wasn’t expected. It wasn’t what he thought he was meant for. He spared a split second for the memory of Alain’s hands on his shoulders, the craggy face and kind warmth of the man’s voice as he said, _“You will rise up.”_

 _‘So much for that,’_ he thought.

“They’re comin’ at me from both sides; I’m out of options. Rox? Rox, I need a favor. Call my mum and tell her to lock herself away from Dean and the baby. And tell her I love her.”

He lost whatever Roxy’s response might have been as he closed his eyes.

He focused inwards, and connected to Harry, opening the bond between them fully. He threw everything he had ever felt for the man into the bond. He sent his love, his memory of their shared passion and lust, his rage at seeing Harry nearly die, his own despair at the thought of losing whatever future they might have had, his shared betrayal at Arthur’s deception and what that would do to the man who had followed him for over twenty years….

Then it dawned on him.

_The scar._

“Merlin. You remember the implants we said were of no use to us? Any chance you can turn ‘em on?”

Eggsy’s determination bled through the bond, and was echoed by Harry’s side, the sheer intensity of the older man’s love ringing throughout his bruised and battered body. He smiled a bit to himself as he heard Merlin’s rough muttering through the comms.

“Yes please.”

The shooting stopped. For a moment nothing happened, and Eggsy leaned forward to see what was happening. And immediately wished he hadn’t. Soft pops followed by a splattering noise sounded down the corridor, an 8-point hat flying through the air with a trail of lavender smoke billowing from the back. Eggsy registered shouting across his comms, Morgana in German and Merlin’s incredulousness.

When the dust had cleared, literally, Eggsy swept out from the frame and looked around, his gun raised. Across the floor, the corpses of every last soldier lay on the floor, steam rising in the chilled air from where their heads used to be. Eggsy leaned back against the door and sighed in relief.

“Merlin, you’re a fucking genius!” Eggsy started to brush the bond again, but was interrupted by banging and clanging against the door at his back. A feminine voice was squawking behind the steady thuds. Confused, Eggsy reached up and flipped the little toggle that held the viewport’s shutter closed. He was greeted with an irate, but beautiful woman. She looked familiar, and in his ear, Morgana confirmed his suspicion.

“Good heavens, that’s Princess Tilde from Sweden! She’s been missing for _weeks_!” A touch of awe was in Morgana’s voice as she spoke.

“What the fuck is happening out there?!” shouted the princess, her eyes darting about as if she could see more than a few feet past the door thanks to the deep recess it was in. Her platinum colored wings had an almost sky blue gleam to the shadows caused by their owner’s frantic flapping.

“Aren’t you that princess that went missing?” Eggsy asked, feeling the need to verbally confirm that this was, in fact, the missing woman and not some doppelgänger.

“Can you get me out of here?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“Not unless you really are the princess.” Eggsy muttered cheekily.

She rolled her eyes and gave him a look that Eggsy privately thought Merlin would be copying for future recruits.

“I’m sorry, I don’t exactly have my passport or crown with me! Yes! I’m Tilde! Now can you please get me out of here?!”

Eggsy started to open the door, but Valentine’s lisping voice boomed throughout the complex and he halted, canting his head to listen.

“You motherfucker. Did you really think I was stupid enough to implant one of those things in my own head? What, are you fucking crazy?! All those innocent people you killed, and for what? You didn’t stop shit!”

“Eggsy, the signal’s started! Get Valentine’s hand off that bloody desk now!” Merlin shouted in his ear, and Eggsy physically winced at the volume of it. He looked back at the princess through the window.

“Sorry love. Got to go save the world,” he said, giving her a rueful smile. He started to leave but she called out to him and he turned back to look at her.

“If you save the world, I let you do it in the asshole!” Her bright eyes sparkled with amusement and not an insignificant amount of panic. Eggsy blinked.

“Don’t think my mate would be too pleased with me giving him the old heave-to.”

“Bring him along, then!”

“Eggsy! Stop fucking about and get in there!” Morgana’s voice cut across the princess’ and Eggsy tossed the girl a wink before dashing towards the command center. He stooped as he entered, grabbing one of the door guards’ guns from their fallen body, and took aim at Valentine’s figure behind the plate-glass window. He swore to himself as he saw that the glass was bullet-resistant, though he had succeeded in getting Valentine’s assistant to pull the man away from the desk, thus stopping the signal. At this rate he’d run out of bullets, though, before he managed to bring the window down.

“Merlin, how do I get up there?!”

“Keep shooting, I’ll find a route.” Merlin’s voice was laced with clear worry.

Eggsy eventually jammed the gun, and was trying desperately not to count down the seconds in his head that were passing with Valentine’s hand on the kill-switch, but was failing spectacularly.

_’45…46…47…48.…’_

The sound of breaking glass and bullets made him snap his neck up. Valentine’s assistant was leaping from the shattered window, a handgun in one hand and her glistening, clearly black-dyed wings flared out behind her to slow her descent. Eggsy rolled forward and past her as she landed, her bladed legs skittering on the polished floor and leaving deep groves as they went. She came at him with a feline grace, deadly and beautiful, and were she not clearly trying to eviscerate him, Eggsy would have stopped to watch her in motion the way he had watched Harry move in the pub all those months ago. She was completely counter to Harry though, whose sinuous moves were simply a refinement of the man himself. This creature trying to take his head off was like smoke curling above a campfire, twisting and turning in a way that was unpredictable but glorious to behold.

Eggsy ducked and dodged, putting his gymnastic skills and parkour abilities to the test as she danced around him in a lethal waltz. The girl barely used her wings, he noticed, only using them to buffer her spins and whirls and to occasionally obscure her movements from him. She battered him as fiercely as any brutality he’d experienced from Dean or his thugs; her strikes sure and exacting. He struck out at her at every chance, using his fists and wings. She managed to avoid getting cut, though once Eggsy brought his wing-blades into play, her moves became fiercer and more desperate. They clashed, her leg becoming almost tangled in his right wing, and the sword-like prosthetic stabbing painfully into the meat just past a wing joint. He hissed and twisted, sending her backwards and out of his flesh, but she executed a near-flawless handspring that had her back on her feet in no time.

She leapt forward onto her hands and began _spinning_ , her legs swiping at him every rotation and very nearly slicing a hand off when he miscalculated a block aimed at her calf. Eggsy shot a leg out and got her in the sternum, a small slice to his thigh the only cost. It sent her reeling backwards, her hand flying to her chest. He stood taller and flared his wings out, the soft snick of the metal blades a comfort to hear. She stood and glared at him, before running towards him. Eggsy was dimly aware of Merlin and Morgana shouting at him through comms yet again, but their instructions took a backseat when the girl sprung up, her wings carrying her aloft. She dove at him, her leg outstretched and the blade on the end of her prosthetic extended as far as it would go. The girl’s leg sailed past his head and impaled the floor.

Eggsy let himself fall backwards in a rolling tumble as she flew at him, and jammed his heels together, drawing out the poisoned blade. Eggsy used the last of the momentum from coming out of his reverse roll to bring his leg straight up and back over his head, catching the small blade in the girl’s back, settling between ribs. He jerked his leg back to the ground and used his hands and wings to regain his footing. He turned to the girl, as she stood there gasping. She faced away from him, but her injuries made her telegraph badly. Though one prosthetic leg was stuck in the floor, the other shot out as she tried to vainly stab him through the chest. Eggsy twisted out of the way, the blade scoring his chest lightly and cutting through the tie that Harry had picked out.

Eggsy spun, as delicate on his toes as a ballerina, and extended his wings as close to horizontally as he could. He felt more than saw the slices as he cut her down, her skin already darkening with the poison from his shoe. The girl fell into pieces on the floor, one ghoulish thigh still trapped in the upright prosthetic like a macabre trophy.

He looked at Valentine’s back, the man shouting to someone named “Gazelle.” Eggsy summed the girl in pieces on the floor was Gazelle, though he’d never caught her name before. He grabbed the upright leg, grimly plucked the flesh from the metal, and took aim.

As it happened, he didn’t need to.

The man turned, his glittering purple wings drooping behind him in clear grief, a small ridge of dirty, mud-colored Nadir brown running along the bottom-most edge of both. Eggsy looked down at the remains of the girl and noted for the first time, that though her wings were clearly dyed black on purpose, the solid line of glittering purple at the base of each wing wasn’t a paint job. They were true mate-feathers. He looked back up at Valentine. The pain etched on the man’s face at the sight and emotional shattering of his mate-bond was almost enough to make Eggsy wish he hadn’t been the one to provide it’s source.

“I took yours, you take mine?” Valentine lisped at Eggsy, his heart not in the quip.

Eggsy said nothing, curling his hand tighter around the prosthetic blade.

“Yeah. Seems fair.” Valentine nodded once at Eggsy, pulled a small handgun from his jacket pocket, and shot himself.

Silence ruled the bunker. No party music played, no chatter and clinking of glasses could be heard. Eggsy’s own heavy breathing seemed too loud in the muted quiet. Eggsy dropped the leg, his body trembling from adrenaline and injury. He felt exhausted in a way that he didn’t know a person could be. Eggsy opened the bond just a bit, having closed it off in the heat of the battle. Harry’s constant stream of _love-worry_ was like a balm to him emotionally, and he let himself fall into the gentle swells he received. When Harry realized that Eggsy was alive and transferring his emotions again, the fierceness of his emotions couldn’t be dampened. Eggsy chuckled a bit in joy at this, his ribs protesting at the small exhalation. Even that pain didn’t diminish his happiness at feeling Harry’s.

Merlin’s voice in his ear brought Eggsy from his reverie, joyous in it’s own right.

“Well done son!”

Eggsy smiled at the praise and swiped his hand across the blood seeping slowly from the slice across his chest.

“Merlin, mate. Gonna take my time gettin’ back. I’m just a bit tired. Might have a seat for a mo, yeah?” Eggsy collapsed into one of the chairs that was, thankfully, mostly exploded-corpse free.

“Take a minute, Eggsy. But we’ll need to go retrieve Lancelot quickly. Night's coming and we dinnae want to leave her out there to freeze.”

“Eggsy? Eggsy, love, we’ve got Harry back in England,” said Morgana. “A small group brought him in from America about twenty minutes ago. He’s in the medical ward, but I can patch him through if you want to talk to him. Apparently the Americans who treated him know a thing or two about serious injuries.”

“Yeah, yeah ‘Melia, if you can. Y’mind givin’ us a private channel?”

“Already done. I’ll click you over now.”

A few seconds passed and Eggsy heard the tell-tale sound of a channel being switched, and the fizzle from static to clarity.

“Eggsy? Darling?”

Eggsy let a near-sob escape his lips hearing Harry’s tired voice.

“Fuck ‘Arry. I… I fuckin’…” Eggsy trailed off into adrenalin-filed laughter, all nervousness and relief.

“Believe me, darling, I feel the same,” Harry said, a small amount of laughter in his own voice.

“S’it always like this? All blood and almost dyin’ and getting shot an’ cut on?” Eggsy wasn’t even aware of slipping between his natural accent and the one he affected for the mission, though Harry took it as a sign of Eggsy’s impending post-mission shut down.

“Not always, dear. And the way you’re feeling, not the part about us and our bond, but the mission? Everyone feels that way in the beginning. It’s rather a sign of our callousness when we begin to lose that racing high and crashing low from a mission. It passes eventually, though several agents empty various methods for hastening its departure. Percival and Lancelot, James mind you, used to take couples cooking classes to cool down. The Gareth before the one you know had a severe drinking problem rise out of his. We find different ways to cope. You’ll find one, though if I may, I do hope yours isn’t too debilitating or destructive. Our current Gawain tends to get into bar fights or set fires. It’s all very ridiculous, but there you have it.”

“D’you know I don’ think I heard a thing you just said? I just like hearin’ you talk.” Eggsy knew he sounded punchy, but he didn’t seem to mind. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, the craggy rocks and sick balls an odd juxtaposition.

“Trust me darling, just hearing your voice is reassurance enough as to your wellbeing. Now go get up, and get back to the plane so that you may come home to me.”

“‘Arry? M’not sorry I didn’ shoot JB. But I am sorry that I made you mad ‘cause of it. And killin’ Arthur and all.”

“Beloved, I’m not mad at you for that. I’m not the best judge of my emotional fortitude when it comes to you. Killing Chester, however much that might have been poorly done, was necessary. Morgana told me that Merlin found some fairly incriminating evidence pointing to Chester’s deceit. Not to mention, the emails composed to a few highly disreputable people with your name on a kill order attached. His loss is a heavy one. I can’t lie about that. Chester King was my friend for a great many years. But he tried to have you killed, dear boy, and I would have torn his wings from his body had he succeeded. Losing his wife changed him and not for the better.

“I can’t say I’m not disappointed that you didn’t pass the dog test, but I understand why you didn’t. And given how very nearly close you have come to losing me and me to losing you, I can’t honestly bring myself to care about it. I rather think saving the world counts a bit more.” Harry’s voice took on a scratchy quality as he talked about Chester, though he didn’t let much else through.

“I killed ‘is mate. That’s ‘ow come. Gazelle? She was Nadir, like me. She painted ‘er wings, mated up with Valentine and I killed ‘er. Shot ‘imself. Doesn’ much feel like I saved the world an’ all. ‘Sides, ‘ow long did I let it go one for? Five minutes? Ten? Plenty of people dead ‘cause of me, ‘Arry.”

“But not your mother. Not your sister. Not me. I’ve killed more people than I know about in my lifetime. I’ll kill more, and heaven forbid they make me Arthur, I’ll send my friends out to die one by one for the sake of some nebulous “greater good.” We are always going to skirt the line between good and evil, Eggsy. There’s nowhere else for us to exist. We can’t hope to live among the good, because we are by our natures as Kingsmen and as people, too dark for them. You’ve lived a life full of pain and sorrow and no matter how you try, you will never be innocent again. It’s a terrible thing to say, more terrible still to have lived it. But it is true and it is real, and that’s what life has dealt you.

“But nor are we evil. We know our faults and our shadows. We try to be superior to them, to overcome. We try to rise up. And we will fall. But we will never fall so far as to forget why we do what we do. Why we become what we become. We can see the darkness in the hearts of others for we have our own to match. But we also carry within us a light, blinding and good, and it is _that very light_ that makes us the only ones who can shoulder this burden. The weight of the dead is not yours alone. And nor will their ghosts haunt you for it, for their wrath should be laid at Valentine’s feet alone.”

Harry coughed, a dry sound that made Eggsy wince and reach through the bond with _comfort_.

“Now go get on the plane and come home. I’d very much like to see you with my own eyes.”

“Love you, ‘Arry, you know that, yeah? I don’ rightly know what I’d do without you.”

“Likely steal more cars, I presume.” Harry’s dry wit hadn’t been dimmed by the gunshot, it seemed. “I love you too, sweetling. More than anything.”

Eggsy laughed, his ribs definitely telling him to stop, and stood. His legs trembled underneath him as he picked his way back to the plane. He stopped in the hallway where he’d seen Tilde in her cell and clicked back to Merlin’s channel.

“What ‘bout the folks in the cells? We can’ take them all with us.”

“No lad, we can’t. I’ve got the locations of a few high-profile people that we _will_ be taking back with us, your princess included, but the rest will have to wait until Kay gets some planes from Berlin out. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours for them, and we’ll have a holding team here in about 20 minutes to let them out and into the hangar if they wish it, as well as to secure Valentine’s tech. Now listen up and go to these rooms…”

Eggsy nodded, and proceeded to the cells that Merlin mentioned. He got Tilde out first, receiving a peck on the cheek from her and a cold compress for his bruised face that she’d put together once she spotted how rough he looked. By the time he returned to the plane, Eggsy had the Royal Families of the UK and Denmark, as well as Tilde and a few others in tow. The plane was stuffed, but Eggsy made sure everyone got a seat, however tightly packed it might be. Making the Queen tea wasn’t something he’d ever had on his bucket list, per se, but it definitely counted as one of the top ten most exciting things to have ever happened to him.

***

Watching Roxy tackle Merlin and snog him senseless in the middle of a snowdrift on a mountainside while the Queen watched, bemused, was a close second.

***

By the time they reached HQ, Eggsy felt every single blow and bullet intimately. Merlin had given him a painkiller the size of a small nation, and sent him to rest. Roxy stayed in the cockpit with Merlin, her need to be near him overcoming her shock at seeing a group of disheveled, but gratefully alive, royalty. Eggsy took a spot that opened up on one of the bench seats when the Duke of Cambridge went to the WC, and ended up falling asleep with his head on the good Duchess’ lap, her son painting on Eggsy’s cheeks with cold tea and her soft hands carding through his hair. He wakened when they reached a private airfield just south of Scotland, a security force ready to take the Queen and her family to Balmoral.

The other royalty disembarked there as well, each deciding that awaiting representatives of their countries would be more comfortable at the Queen’s residence than on a cramped plane that smelled of gunpowder. Tilde had given Eggsy a long kiss on the cheek and a pinch on the rear as she left, slipping her number into his jacket with a whispered reminder to bring his mate along next time they met. He hadn’t bothered to close the bond, and he felt Harry’s tired amusement at the awkward situation clearly. The trip to Kingsman’s HQ took less than an hour, and Eggsy loped along behind Merlin once they disembarked. Luckily, the Scotsman led Eggsy straight to medical before collapsing into a visitor’s chair nearby, having been up and working as long as Eggsy and Roxy.

Medical was tedious, but Eggsy was grateful for the attention. He shed his suit without a thought for modesty, and two nurses helped him unbuckle and remove the still-bloody wing blades. The muscles in his wings and back protested right up until they were free of the burden, and the knots that had developed from overexerting them twitched in relief. Eggsy was more bruise than skin once they got him down to his pants. The staff was efficient, seating him on some sort of plastic wheelchair that they used to wheel him into a frankly obscene hot shower. They bandaged and stitched, set and wrapped. He had blood blessers on his wings from where the joints of the blades, sized to his taller mate, had rubbed and grabbed at the feathers. His chest was simply purple, with the gash across the front requiring _actual staples_ to keep the skin from splitting back open under the swelling. He looked a right mess and he knew it.

Still, when they got him on a bed and wheeled that into Harry’s recovery room, he sat upright despite the exhaustion and foggy medication they’d forced on him. Harry didn’t look so great himself, his head bandaged thickly and his skin paler than Eggsy thought skin had a right to be. Still, he was alive and awake, one amber eye catching Eggsy’s and a tired smile playing about his lips.

“You look about as good as I feel, darling.”

“Fuck off, ‘Arry.” That earned him a warm laugh from the older man.

“Not that I’d complain, but I rather think we’re both just a bit too overdone for that at the moment.”

It was Eggsy’s turn to laugh, his ribs tweaking under the pressure.

“Shh, love. Just rest. I’ll be here when you wake, and I daresay given how you look, you’ll be in here with me for the duration.”

“M’alright ‘Arry. Just banged up a bit,” slurred Eggsy, the pull of the medication becoming too much.

“Of course you are. Completely baffled as to why I’d think differently.”

Eggsy drifted off, the sound of Harry’s voice and the ever-present thrum of their bond coaxing him into a deeper sleep than he’d had in days. He dreamt of wild things; colors and lights, the glint of Gazelle’s bladed feet as they spun at him, the crackle of the fire in Alain’s fireplace in Paris, the little duckling story. And over it all, he was vaguely aware of the scent of heated cologne and the warmth that only sleeping next to someone else could bring.

Soft murmurs woke Eggsy, his body a single solid ache, and his eyes gritty with too much sleep and not enough water. He started to move and felt the tugging of an IV at the back of his hand. Cracking one heavy eyelid he saw a nearly empty bag of saline on an IV stand next to him. He didn’t recall them giving him an IV before he slept.

“Good afternoon, dear,” Harry said, his voice rough-sounding.

Eggsy used the bed controls to raise himself up, groaning when his abdomen and ribs moved. Still, he preferred to be able to see the world at large rather than the sterile and plain ceiling of the recovery room.

“Time is it?” he managed to get out. His mouth felt like it was covered in sand and poor decisions.

“3 o’clock, or so. You’ve been out for just under 45 hours. When you hit a solid day without waking, they gave you an IV of fluids and nutrients. You’re actually due for another one soon. Can you stand? They were beginning to think you were going to need a catheter, and if you can avoid _that_ unpleasantness, you’ll want to.”

“Mmm. Two days? Anybody call me mum? Or check on JB?”

“Yes to both. Your mother and sister are fine; Roxy made sure JB was well taken care of as well. Your stepfather… well he wasn’t as fortunate. Apparently he happened to be in the middle of some sort of criminal meeting when the signal went out. As best anybody can tell, no one walked out of that alive.” Harry spoke softly, as if talking louder hurt, and drank deeply from a glass of water he held. A half-full water carafe and an extra empty cup sat next to him on the small end table between their beds.

“Damn. Was lookin’ forward to killin’ ‘im myself.”

Despite his flippant tone, Eggsy was floored by the revelation of Dean’s demise. For years he’d anticipated the day when he could give the man everything he’d meted out to Eggsy and his mother. He had fantasies of swooping in like some sort of eleventh-hour savior and putting the man in ground for as long as he could recall. The man who had caused such strife, such pain to his little family was finally gone, the yoke of burden no longer around their necks. But it didn’t quite feel real. Eggsy suspected it wouldn’t for some time. He looked around and saw Harry watching him with a curious expression on his bandaged face.

“Everything alright?” The concern was partially radiating off of the older man, and it prodded Eggsy through the bond, albeit gently.

“Yeah. Just… thinkin’ is all. Spent a dozen years thinkin’ ‘bout all the ways to kill that motherfucker. Thought up near a hundred ways to off ‘im, and ‘is crew. Figured if I were gonna go to jail, it should be for somethin’ like that. Never thought it would be somethin’ like all this mess that got ‘im in the end. Figured it’d be my knife, or mum’s maybe, if ‘e tried to get Daisy or somethin’. Almost don’ seem fair, like all the fuckin’ shite I lived through ‘cause of ‘im were for nothin’.”

“I’d hardly call it ‘for nothing,’ sweetling. It made you kind of man you are today. The kind who loves unconditionally, who guards his heart and his family with equal fervor, but when freely given, is given completely. Look at me for proof. I’ve treated you abysmally since I met you all those years ago, and yet here you are. I’m hardly deserving of that kind of loyalty or love, and yet you’ve given me both.”

“You’re my mate, ‘Arry. That don’ change just ‘cause I might be right pissed at you.”

“Are you? I wouldn’t blame you.”

“‘Onestly, m’too fuckin’ tired to be angry anymore. No point in it. Either I’m a Kingsman or I’m not. Either I’m yours or I’m not. It is what it is.”

“How very French of you. I should send Alain a thank you card,” Harry said drolly.

“Oh, get fucked. Alain’s great. So’s Pellinore,” Eggsy replied, no heat in his tone. He sobered a bit.

“For real though, you doin’ alright? Thought you couldn’ talk.”

“Ah yes. The Americans that picked me up are… rather used to near-resurrections these days, and have acquired some truly _interesting_ methods of ensuring the speedy healing of their staff.”

“So what, they got some kind of tech that can take you from almost dead to practically fine in like, eighteen ‘ours?”

“Something like that, yes. I wasn’t too keen on finding out the specifics given the situation. Merlin and the medical staff here are practically salivating over the thought of getting their hands on some, but those negotiations will have to wait until things have settled down.”

“Christ, ‘Arry. Whatever they got, let’s get some more of it, yeah? I could do with some miraculous fuckin’ ‘ealing right now too!”

“My dear, the very fact that despite your injuries you _don’t_ need their services is something I am very, very grateful for.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the door to their recovery room opening and admitting Merlin, ever-present clipboard at the ready.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Glad to see you awake. Eggsy, any pain? Beyond the general, that is?”

“Nah. Chest aches and itches ‘cause of the staples, ribs ache, but not bad. Nothin’ sharp or shootin’.”

“Excellent. Harry, anything?”

“Not much beyond a headache, and one of the neurological staff was in here an hour ago and declared it in need of some paracetamol and a glass of water.” Harry shook the nearly-empty glass he was holding as if to make his point clearer.

“Throat still giving you trouble?”

“A bit. Dryness, swelling, soreness. Hydration helps, but they tell me it’s mostly just a waiting game until it heals fully.”

“What’s wrong with your throat?” Eggsy asked, reaching for the empty cup on the table. He filled it slowly and drank from it in small sips.

“Part of the process the Americans used on him required intubation, which can be painful if done too quickly or with an incorrectly sized tube.” Merlin shrugged and looked between them.

“Alright. Eggsy, you’ve got two cracked ribs, a badly mangled wing joint, a cracked eye socket, the cut on your chest, several severe hematoma from close-range bullets, and every other bruise on the planet. You’re lucky you didn’t get more. Harry, you’ve got a _bloody hole in your head_ so there’s that. You’ll both be here for at least four more days, though Harry you’re looking at closer to one or two weeks depending on physio and neuro releasing you. You’ve both got mandatory psych evaluations and therapy sessions coming up, so I dinnae suggest trying to escape if you value your service to the organization.”

“Didn’ think I was part of the organization,” said Eggsy quietly, looking at his hands where they clasped his cup.

“Table voted on a probationary period yesterday. You’ve got six months to prove to us you’re knight material, or we shuffle you elsewhere within the organization. Both Pellinore and Alain have said they’d take you on in a heartbeat, so if you’d rather go that route, you’re more than welcome. Might make a good handler, though you’d need to work on your tech services pretty heavily,” Merlin replied neutrally.

Eggsy nodded and bit his lip.

“Give me a couple days to think on it? I like the knight bits, but I gotta think about whether this kind of thing outweighs that,” he said, sweeping a hand over his ravaged body.

“I’d be more worried if you’d said yes right away lad. I dinnae expect any kind of answer until well after you’ve been cleared by psych as it is. If they dinnae clear you, that changes your prospects somewhat.”

“I understand, Merlin. Thanks, for real. S’good to know where I stand and all.”

Harry, who had remained quiet during this exchange finally spoke up.

“Have the final numbers come back from within the organization?”

“Not entirely. America’s still unfucking itself, and Brazil is all but gone. We’ve only had sporadic contact from a few techs there. The rest are in. Looks like discounting America and Brazil, about 25%. The other three-quarters are loyal. We’re going to have to salt-and-burn South America and rebuild from the ground up, unfortunately. The few techs I mentioned have all indicated they’d rather get out, given their injuries and the clusterfuck that was going on before all the world went to Hell.”

Harry nodded as if considering.

“Who’s the new Arthur, Merlin?” asked Eggsy.

“The vote’s not in yet, lad. We’re waiting on two more votes.” With this, Merlin turned the clipboard around and handed it to Eggsy. He then plucked a set of glasses from his breast pocket and placed them on the bed near Eggsy’s side.

Donning them, Eggsy looked at the tablet, seeing what was previously a blank screen become what looked like a ballot with his name on it at the top. There were three other names, each bearing a small box next to them. _Galahad, Kay, Percival_ they read, and Eggsy smiled. Any three of the men would be decent at leadership, but he wanted to talk to the man first. He pushed a tendril of emotion to the other man, _question-commitment-decision_.

Harry replied almost instantly with a resounding _fuckit-whynot_.

Eggsy laughed aloud, and tapped the box by Harry’s codename. The ballot popped up a dialog box asking him to confirm the choice with a thumbprint scan, and he obliged. The screen dissolved into the Kingsman logo with a small “ _Thank you_ ” printed neatly below the circle. Eggsy handed the tablet back to Merlin, mindful of his IV lines. He started to remove the glasses, but Merlin waved him off.

“They’re yours, lad. Keep them.”

“Thanks, guv. ‘Ow’s Rox?”

“No.”

“Merlin. M’not even asking to be cheeky.”

“No.”

“But-“

“No.”

Eggsy groaned and Harry laughed. The younger man huffed and sat back in bed, crossing his arms over his chest, then immediately regretting the decision when it pulled on his wound. He watched Merlin hand the tablet to Harry, who promptly voted and handed it back.

“Alright then, congratulations Harry. Alastair will be thrilled; he was worried he’d get the job and not you.” Merlin reached into his trousers pocket and drew out a cell phone and tossed it to Eggsy. While Eggsy began fiddling with it, a nurse entered and changed his saline bag. The cool rush down the IV line and through his arm felt wonderful, and Eggsy suspected that maybe they’d added a painkiller to the blend. The nurse checked in on Harry while Eggsy and Merlin spoke, and left as quickly as she came.

“It’s Kingsman issue. The rest of your things are going to be delivered to your residence when you get out.”

“Uh, what residence?”

Merlin’s expression seemed to get more withering and he cocked his head.

“Your mate’s house. I’m assuming you’re moving in?”

“We hadn’t exactly discussed things as you well know, you meddlesome bog-trotter,” said Harry. Merlin shot Harry a sarcastic look.

“I don’ mind, but I gotta make sure Daisy is okay. Mum too, if she’s… you know. Aware,” Eggsy finished lamely.

Merlin nodded thoughtfully.

“I assumed as much from what little Roxy has told me and our own records. Traditionally, Kingsman provides a residence for each knight. Since you’re not technically a knight, we cannae just give you a place to call your own yet. However, we’ve several out-of-commission flats used as safe houses that might work temporarily. If you’d rather go through a civilian estate agent or leasing agent, we can help you get that set up as well. You’ve a salary and a bank account with Barclays, though we can change that to Bank of England or somewhere else if you’d prefer. At the moment your family is in your old council flat, though were I you, I’d move them somewhere else. Things have been unstable throughout London, and the rougher areas especially so.”

“Eggsy, bring them to my home for the time being. If we’re not there, they can have run of the place while we recuperate, and we’ll deal with getting housing arrangements made once things settle a bit more. Besides, you can send JB home to them,” Harry said seriously.

“I’d love to, ‘Arry, but mum’s not in a fit state to take care of Dais’ without another adult. Might never be, even if she gets clean. Unless she got sober while I’ve been ‘ere at Kingsman, she’s gonna be getting the shakes and withdrawal pretty bad without Dean there to keep ‘er drugged up. I’d planned on gettin’ ‘er into a facility once I got ‘ome. NHS will pay for some, and I figured I’d be makin’ enough to cover the rest,” Eggsy said bitterly, the thought of his mother’s suffering being prolonged eating at him.

“Who was watching your sister then, lad?” Merlin asked, a note of concern laced deeply through his voice.

“Me mates some, a lady down the ‘all from us some. Dean never really gave a fuck ‘bout Daisy, and ‘is boys wouldn’ care to look in on ‘er, specially not if there’s crime to be done with all the chaos.”

“Right. Call your friends, and we’ll send someone for your sister. She’ll stay here until you get settled. It’s rarely used, but we do have a small creche for agents and staff with children for situations like this very one. I’ll make a call and we’ll see about getting you guardianship pending your mother’s sobriety and psychological readiness. I’ll send Roxy over to take your mother to one of the safe houses I mentioned, get it stocked up, and we’ll get a home nurse to be with her while she detoxes. Hospitals and rehabilitation facilities are going to be swamped, so you might need to wait it out until some time passes. We’ll have to take the nurse’s pay from your salary, though.”

“Not a problem, guv. You can take it all if it gets ‘er out of danger.”

Merlin gave Eggsy a tight smile, already tapping away at his tablet. He wandered back out of the recovery room, leaving Harry and Eggsy to themselves once again.

“Clearly Merlin brought it up before I had the chance to, but I would dearly love it if you stayed with me. I know it’s rather sudden, but I’m an old man; I don’t want to be without you at my side a moment longer.” Harry had turned to face Eggsy, and the small smile he gave the younger man was genuinely lovestruck.

“‘Course I’ll be with you, ‘Arry. Don’ get me wrong, we’re gonna ‘ave words about everythin’ but I ain’t about to lose you just ‘cause I’m mad at you. But if I end up takin’ care of Dais’ she’s part of the package. I can’ leave ‘er behind. I won’t. And If you make me choose between ‘er and you, well….” Eggsy trailed off. He didn’t think Harry was the type of person to make that kind of ultimatum, but it was a large leap from “just met my mate” to “now we have a child to think of.”

“If I were the type of person to ask you to make that choice, I rather think I wouldn’t be your mate,” Harry said pointedly. He cleared his throat and drained his remaining water.

“As it is, I’d be delighted to have your sister with us as long as need be. We’ll need to establish some things with regards to her care when we’re both unavailable, or if we’re indisposed. I’m sincerely hoping your mother gets better, but if she doesn’t we’ll also have long-term care to think of for both her and young Daisy.”

“Yeah. Fuck. I just… I mean I’m glad, yeah? But then I feel fuckin’ awful for bein' glad that someone’s dead, even if it was Dean. Like, I shouldn’t be so ‘appy for someone else’s misfortune, but I don’ know how else to feel.”

“Frankly, I think you feeling anything at all about the bastard is giving him too much of your emotional register. But I’m not the one he hurt,” Harry said ruefully.

“I know. For now, let’s get Merlin’s plan workin’. I think gettin’ mum some ‘elp is a good start, and the fact that they’re gonna let me bring Dais’ ‘round HQ is fuckin’ fantastic.”

“Well it does help that you happen to be on very good terms with the boss, so to speak.”

“Fuck yeah it does,” Eggsy said, the warmth in his voice echoed by the grin on his face.

“Can’ fuckin’ wait to get you back ‘ome with me. Whatever them Americans did, remind me to send a thank-you card, yeah? Dunno what I’d’ve done if you ‘ad died.”

“I’d like to think you’d have carried on, darling. You’re much stronger than I am, than most everyone, no matter what you may have ever been told. To live the life you’ve lived and still remain to optimistic and happy is an incredible thing. That kind of resiliency would have carried you well beyond my death. It _will_ carry you far beyond me one day.”

Harry sounded wistful, but shook his head a bit.

“‘Arry. We’re fuckin’ spies. We could die tomorrow or in forty fuckin’ years. Either way, I don’ want to consider ‘carrying on beyond you.’ It’s not done.”

“You’re going to be the death of me, Eggsy. And I will enjoy every minute of it.”

“Nah, bruv. I’m gonna be the _life_ of you.”

“I rather think you will, darling. I rather think you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JFC. First time out the gate and I make this fucking monster. I'll be making more in this world, don't worry. I've got too much more to do with my toys than to just leave them to collect dust. Many thanks to all who have read, commented, hated, loved, etc.
> 
> I wrote this because I love wingfic AUs, and I always want to read them in whatever fandom I happen to be in. I never expected it to become a 75k word beast, but there it is.
> 
> If anyone's interested, below you'll find the playlist I had on repeat pretty much exclusively while writing this. Each song to me captured a specific part or character of the story, and is one that is going to stay on my iTunes for a good long while. If you'd like to know what song went where, just hit me up and I'll be glad to dork out about it. :)
> 
> 1\. Bird Gurhl - Antony and the Johnsons (This is pretty much *the* theme of Avia. I listened to this one more than any other for inspiration)
> 
> 2\. River of Sorrow - Antony and the Johnsons
> 
> 3\. Oblivion - Bastille
> 
> 4\. Love Death Birth - Carter Burwell (Twilight BD 1 OST)
> 
> 5\. A Thousand Years - Christina Perri
> 
> 6\. Ghosts - Christopher Dallman
> 
> 7\. Passenger Seat - Death Cab for Cutie
> 
> 8\. Little Bird, Little Bird - Elizabeth Mitchell
> 
> 9\. All I Ask of You - Phantom of the Opera (film version)
> 
> 10\. I’m Not That Girl - Wicked (Original Cast Recording) 
> 
> 11\. Flightless Bird, American Mouth - Iron and Wine (Twilight BD 1 OST version)
> 
> 12\. Postcard to Henry Purcell - Pride and Prejudice OST (2005 version)
> 
> 13\. Video Games - Lana Del Rey
> 
> 14\. Dark Paradise - LDR
> 
> 15\. Radio - LDR
> 
> 16\. Once Upon A Dream - LDR (Maleficent OST)
> 
> 17\. Ride - LDR
> 
> 18\. American - LDR
> 
> 19\. Blue Velvet - LDR
> 
> 20\. Yayo - LDR
> 
> 21\. I See the Light - Mandy Moore and Zachary Levi (Tangled OST) 
> 
> 22\. Quantas Sabedes Amar Amigo - New World Renaissance Band
> 
> 23\. King and Lionheart - Of Monsters and Men
> 
> 24\. If I Were a Blackbird - Owain Phyfe and the New World Renaissance Band
> 
> 25\. Future Days - Pearl Jam
> 
> 26\. Book of Love - Peter Gabriel
> 
> 27\. Stay With Me - Sam Smith
> 
> 28\. All Time Love - Will Young
> 
> 29\. Street Spirit (fade out) - 2Cellos version
> 
> 30\. Benedictus - 2Cellos
> 
> 31\. Hurt - 2Cellos
> 
> Stay tuned for more.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at awesomehartwintrash.tumblr.com.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fanart Cover for Avia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9334364) by [Nightingowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightingowl/pseuds/Nightingowl)




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